


I've Got No Soul to Sell

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Allison, Alpha Cora Hale, Alpha Derek, Alpha Lydia, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Background Triads, Biting, Bonding, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mates, Miscarriage, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Off-screen abuse, Omega Erica Reyes, Omega Jackson, Omega Scott, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Phone Sex, Pregnant Erica, Pregnant Jackson, Pregnant Scott, Pregnant Sex, Pregnant Stiles, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, Sexual Fantasy, Sleepy Sex, Werewolf Mates, Wolfed Out Sex, off-screen sexual violence, porn sunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson wants to take control of his life the only way he knows how: by selling his omega capability to bear a child to an alpha who needs it. When Derek Hale claims him, Jackson quickly finds himself in over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of notes, sorry...
> 
> This is a new WiP! It will be ten chapters long, posted weekly, on Sundays. I've got four of the ten chapters written so far, and this one is being posted now in honor of Porn Sunday.
> 
> This is marked that I have chosen not to use Archive Warnings, which is true. There are things that folks might find bothersome, including Jackson's attitude towards himself and his role, and some of the side plots that will flow through this. I'll be tagging as well as I can and trying not to forget anything. I apologize if anything triggery slips through. Please feel free to contact me [on Tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com/ask) if you have any questions or concerns that you don't want to leave in a comment.
> 
> The title comes from the Nine Inch Nails song "Closer" and all chapter headings will also come from this same song. Yes, I'm trying to treat one of the crudest songs I know (and LOVE) as a journey. Hopefully it'll work.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy! As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

### Month 0

_~~~ I want to fuck you like an animal ~~~_

 “This isn’t a decision you should make lightly.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and gives Deaton a _look_. “I know. It’s painful. It’s uncomfortable. I’m going to lose my figure and I’m going to be miserable for nine months, and I don’t even get to keep the baby at the end. But here’s the deal: I don’t want to be a dad. What I want is the fifty grand I’m going to get for this so I can pay off one tiny part of my college loans. Besides, if that asswipe can do it, so can I.” He gestures to where Stiles-fucking-Stilinski is sprawled in a plastic chair, fingers flailing as he tells some story or another. “I’m ready, Deaton. Bring it on.”

“There will be expectations…”

“I know,” Jackson snarls.

“It will be painful…”

“ _I know_.” He doesn’t try to hide the growl that’s rising, and it’s loud enough to get the attention of the other omegas in the waiting room. Every single one of them has a companion, someone to coach them through this and broker the actual contract. Stilinski has his father, and McCall has his mother. The only girl in the group—Erica Reyes—has her husband with her, and Jackson has to think that _that_ is going to be one clusterfuck to deal with, if any alpha’s even willing to put his dick into the middle of that mess. 

He doesn’t know the rest of the people in the room. All he knows is that there are twenty-three omegas, but only four alphas looking for a receptive person to bear their child. Only _four_ alphas without a mate of childbearing capability who are looking for an omega that is _guaranteed_ to be of good breeding and able to produce a born werewolf.

Jackson may not know his exact lineage, but he knows damned well that he’s pure. The records about his birth say that much, at least.

“Drink.” Deaton presses a glass into Jackson’s hand.

He takes it and lifts it, raises his eyebrows, and toasts, “Down the rabbit hole.” He tilts his head back, drinking down every bit of the bittersweet fluid, feeling the way it warms him immediately, seeping into his bones and making his skin itch with promise and possibility.

He wonders what this room will be like for the nineteen people who are not chosen. How they will get relief from the hunger that’s coursing through their veins, making it so they’ll go ass up for anyone who walks into the room right now, whether they care about them or not. Jackson doesn’t care, really, because it won’t matter to him. In another ten minutes he’ll be in one of those private back rooms with a dick up his ass, making sure he’s as pregnant as a guy can get.

His head snaps up when the door opens, nostrils flaring from the scent of _alpha_ when they enter the room. Three men, and one woman. The omegas are all on their feet, crowding forward, but Jackson hangs back. He doesn’t want the woman, and she doesn’t look like she wants any of the others. She may be small, but she moves with a purpose, stalking through the crowds until she stands right in front of Erica, her finger tapping lightly against her forehead. “Back room,” she says. “Now.” When Boyd goes to stand, the woman places a perfectly manicured fingertip against his throat and nudges him back. “No. She will be protected, you have my word. You will go collect her things and have them delivered to my home.” She pauses, her head tilted. “You may move in as well.” With a flip of her red hair, she crooks her finger and Erica follows.

Jackson can smell them both, the musk hot and heavy as they leave together.

Fingertips brush the back of his neck, and his eyes flutter closed, focusing inward. The alpha’s touch dances along his spine, touching each nob of bone from the base his skull down to the edge of his collar. Claws tip into his skin, and Jackson shivers at the sensation.

“Please,” he whispers, before he realizes the word is out.

The claws go deeper, and Jackson whines, arching back against the touch. He is ready to strip here and now if it’s needed, if it would please this alpha. He can smell him, can smell the _need_ rolling off of him. And Jackson needs this, too. He needs _this_ alpha. Whatever his original plans were, his wolf has chosen.

“Derek, you don’t want this one.” Something yanks the fingers from his neck, and Jackson whimpers in response, head falling forward. He twists to see two alphas, the older holding the younger—presumably Derek—by the wrist, a snarl lifting the lip of the younger one. The older one continues talking as if Jackson isn’t there. “He’s a mutt. Adopted.”

“His pedigree is perfect, if you’d care to see his records.” Deaton’s voice is the mild sound of reason, but Jackson can’t stop looking at the two alphas.

“I’ve made my choice,” Derek growls, the sound taking his voice lower. “Back off, Peter.”

“It’s our line you’ll be sullying.”

Jackson sees it then, as if the lines are bright, limned around the edges of the two men. Peter is _an_ alpha, but Derek is _the_ alpha. The one who needs the mate. Peter doesn’t have the scent, the need, he isn’t there to rut into the pack of omegas. Maybe he’ll take a leftover, take the edge of their need, but he’s not here to make _children_. And he resents it. He reeks of resentment and sullen resignation.

“He won’t be sullying anything with me.” Jackson raises one hand, puts it solidly against Peter’s chest and shoves, making a space between them and stepping into it. He comes up close to Derek and tilts his head back, baring his throat. “I’m an omega, and I’ll breed true. Your wolf wants me.” His voice drops, going husky as he leans in, waiting until Derek lowers his head and teeth graze against his throat. Jackson’s hands fall to Derek’s sides, claws out, dipping under fabric to find skin and catching at it. He closes his eyes, breath shuddering in his throat. “Your wolf wants me,” he whispers again. “And mine wants yours. I’ll do anything for you, anything you want. Rough, slow, oral… you want to flay my skin? I will take it, screaming your name the entire time. And I will heal and let you do it again. I am what you _need_.”

He isn’t ready for the growl, the low sound that builds to a heavy roar, filling his ears and undoing him to the point where he nearly comes, then and there. He feels the slick sensation of his body making itself ready for this alpha, a willing receptacle, and his knees go weak. “Please,” he whispers again, and there are no more arguments.

Derek’s fingers dig into the nape of his neck, possessive and sharp as he turns him and they go into the back.

Jackson doesn’t care where they end up. He doesn’t care if there are others in the room, but he’s still thankful that the one Derek kicks open is empty. He doesn’t wait for the door to close to pull his clothes off, yanking at fabric that’s too rough on his skin. Claws shred through his shirt, and he breathes more easily as soon as his torso is naked. He reaches for the button of his jeans and is surprised when a hand covers his. “No.”

Jackson whines, because he wants to be naked. _Needs_ be naked. “Please. Just fuck me.”

“You said I could do anything I want.” Derek’s voice is a whisper against Jackson’s shoulder as he yanks him back. Fit as he is, ass to crotch, Jackson can feel Derek’s arousal and oh _fuck_ , the alpha is huge even before his knot. “You said you are _mine_. And I am going to fuck you. I am going to fuck you until you scream, and I am going to do it again and again until your ass is overflowing and I know you’ve got my baby in you. I am going to rip you apart and you are going to _love_ it.”

Jackson can’t argue the point. All he can do is shift his hips, begging silently when Derek picks the button open, shoves the fly wide and pulls his dick out. Derek’s hands are rough, stroking from root to tip, and Jackson bucks, desperate for more.

Derek manhandles him, turning him to the wall, holding Jackson’s hands over his head until he stands there, legs splayed after Derek yanks his jeans and underwear off. His cock bobs in the warm air, heavy and thick, ready to explode at any moment. But Derek doesn’t touch it again, instead shoving two fingers deep into Jackson’s loose and wet ass.

The groan sounds like Derek is undone, a liquid sound of desperation. “You are so fucking wet for me. Such a good omega. Come for me. Show me what a needy little bitch you are.”

Jackson’s hips rock, pushing back against those fingers, crying out when a third one joins the first two, opening him up, stroking over his prostate. There is nothing on his dick but air, but that doesn’t matter. The scent, the feel, the sounds of words whispering against his skin as Derek’s lips skate over his hip… it’s all more than enough and Jackson’s body tightens before he comes all over the wall.

It doesn’t help the hunger, his dick still hard in the aftermath. One quick drink has ensured that nothing will stop the need other than his alpha’s spunk deep inside of him. Nothing but a knot will end this. “More,” he whispers. “Anything. Anything you want. Just give me _more_.”

“On your knees.” Derek strips quickly, and Jackson can’t look away from his cock. Thick, long, dripping at the end… he reaches for it, begging with a soft whine until Derek moves in close and grips his hair roughly, pulling Jackson’s mouth to his cock. “Oh fuck, you have a pretty little mouth.”

He won’t make him come. He doesn’t think he can, not caught in the throes of the rut the way they are. But Jackson can tease him, can please him, can show him just how good he is at this, opening his throat and letting Derek fuck him deep until Jackson’s eyes water from the feel of it. He can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter that Derek’s choking him. He wants this, wants the harsh scent that rises around them as Derek’s need grows. And his body answers with another flood of warmth that drips down his ass and between his legs. He reaches back, shoving two fingers in, needing more than he’s getting, needing that to keep him centered.

“Get down.” Derek shoves Jackson away, and he rocks back on his heels, looking up to see Derek’s eyes flash red. Jackson twists, drops to his hands and knees. He doesn’t have to be told again, going down on his elbows, ass in the air and legs spread, leaving his hole open and dripping. Waiting. Hungry.

He closes his eyes in anticipation, braced. He’s never done this, has no idea what it will feel like, only that the drink _helps_. He knows it will hurt tomorrow, that his body will need to heal and change and accommodate what they are doing tonight. He also knows that it is this _once_ and if he hates it, he never has to do it again. This is a contract between alpha and omega. One night of fucking, one child. That’s it.

The head of Derek’s dick feels bigger than three fingers. Fuller. He pushes in roughly, and Jackson cries out, his body shifting to accommodate, healing as quickly as it hurts. “Harder,” he whispers. “More. Please.” And Derek obliges, filling him with one thrust, going straight to the root until Jackson screams again, body stretched tight around him.

“You said anything,” Derek murmurs, mouth dropping to Jackson’s shoulder. “You said _anything_.” Teeth close over skin, biting sharply just as Derek pulls back and fucks in hard, driving dick and teeth into Jackson.

It’s not what he expected. There is _nothing_ that could have prepared him for this, for the way it feels _good_ , sending him over the edge again abruptly, body spasming as Derek pushes deep, but there’s no end in sight yet, even with sticky fluid coating the floor.

Derek shoves him down, the warmth wet against his hip as he is fucked over and over. He feels claws and teeth scraping over skin, digging in as Derek howls and Jackson starts to float in a haze of pain and arousal. His body spasms again, aching with denied need when its done, each orgasm bringing him no closer to what he really needs. “Please…” he begs, whining, the whimper rising as his wolf burgeons under his skin. He feels claws and fur, knows his eyes flash when he reaches back, gripping Derek’s flank roughly and yanking him closer. “ _Please!_ ” It is more demand than begging, and he feels Derek’s body respond.

Derek is bigger now, too big to move. His breath is rough, panting as he moves in tiny jerks, pushing into Jackson while he pulls on his cock, begging, whispering, ordering Jackson to _come right now_ , and when Jackson finally does, he feels Derek shudder behind him. Hot, wet, filling him deeply, letting Derek’s knot slip and slide, fucking him all over again until it grows too big and they are tied together, plugging the hole so none of Derek’s semen can escape.

There is nothing left of Jackson, and he sways before he collapses. Derek gathers him into his arms, and Jackson falls asleep there on the floor, held by his alpha and thoroughly knotted.

He wakes to Derek rutting into him again, fucking his slippery hole. It is easier this time, the ache a pleasant burn as Derek litters his shoulders with marks from his teeth. The knot grows quickly and Jackson doesn’t know how he can possibly hold everything that Derek gives him. He doesn’t know how his body can still react, tired as he is, whining and begging for more, coming when Derek draws a claw gently along the vein on the underside of his dick.

He is a violin, and Derek is a maestro, playing him with rough skill and gentle talent.

And Jackson loves it.

They fuck seven times in forty-eight hours before the rut wears off and Jackson tumbles into the depths of a full sleep. When he wakes, he is wrapped in warm blankets, his body sticky and covered in fading bruises and claw marks.

He is alone.

This is what he wants, and what he expected. This is exactly what he needs. Nine months, and everything will be done.

Jackson is in control of his future for the first time since he left home.

He can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there and thanks for reading! The next chapter will post on Sunday, February 9th. Until then, you can find me [on Tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com/). Take care, all!


	2. Chapter 2

### Month 1

_~~~ Help me, I broke apart my insides ~~~_

They are all expected to move into the omega housing facility, except for Erica and Boyd who were taken home by their alpha. It’s a pity, since Jackson actually _likes_ Erica. They’ve always gotten along, ever since they were little and even during in high school. She has a biting snark that he appreciates, enough so that he can tolerate her bizarre friendship with Stilinski.

McCall and Stilinski complain bitterly as they move in, but Jackson doesn’t mind. He needs a place to live now that he’s out of school, and the loans are hanging heavily over his head. He has a job but it doesn’t pay much and it’s still part time, until he proves himself, and he knows that as soon as they find out he’s pregnant—assuming he _is_ pregnant—he’s likely to get dumped. No one likes a moody omega at the front desk or on the phones.

Jackson takes the best room in the quad that they are given, the one with the windows across the back of the house. It’s furthest from the living room, although it’s right off the kitchen. Snacks are good, the assholes he’s living with are not, so it works for him.

They’ve been there a week when Deaton comes by, little black bag in hand. He points to the room and Jackson rolls his eyes.

“Everyone else has already been tested,” Deaton says mildly as Jackson closes the door. “Disrobe down to underwear and get on the bed. Also—” He hands Jackson a cup. “Specimen, please.”

“Once upon a time I thought you were a friend of the family,” Jackson says dryly.

“Once upon a time you acted as if you were family,” Deaton reminds him. “I am your adjudicator and I will ensure that you are taken care of and safe throughout this process. That does not mean I approve of you selling your reproductive capabilities and giving up your child.”

“What other options do I have?” Jackson slips into his private bathroom and returns to hand the cup to Deaton who sets it aside. Herbs are dropped into it, dust ringing the cup, then Deaton leaves it alone.

“You could apologize to your father.”

“He’s not my father.” Jackson leans back on the bed. “We both know that. And he won’t tell me who my parents actually are, which makes him worthless. You know what it’s like, Deaton. I did one thing, and there I was, out on the doorstep.”

“Every argument has two sides.”

“Every platitude has a root of truth, _yes_ , I’ve heard it all before.” Jackson takes the small bottle he is handed and swallows the contents with a toss of his head. “Oh fuck, what’s this one?”

“Just something to calm you. Let me check your progress.”

“I thought we were testing to see if I actually got pregnant.” Jackson pushes up on one elbow.

“Oh, you’re pregnant, there is no doubt about that.” Deaton points to the side, and Jackson follows the gesture to see the cup sitting there, glowing faintly orange, a ring of fire damage around it where the dust burned. “The question now is how much we can tell about the child, and whether we can ensure your health and the progress of the changes in your body. Given that Mr. Hale will be here shortly, I would like to have everything ready to set in the documentation.”

Hale. Derek Hale. Jackson mulls that over while he closes his eyes and tries to ignore the examination. Because no matter how relaxed Deaton’s magic potion makes him, there is nothing comfortable about the idea of someone trying to peer up your ass. He winces and tries to get more comfortable. “I thought we signed everything already. I signed a ton of shit before this even started.”

“The agreements must be finalized after pregnancy has been confirmed and both parties are fully involved,” Deaton reminds him. “Some parts are impossible to set in stone before impregnation has occurred.”

“Yeah. Like names.” _Derek Hale_. “His name is familiar. Why?”

“Perhaps you are thinking of Talia Hale. Or her successor, Laura Hale.”

“The wolves who went down in flames.” Jackson can’t lie back for this, and he pushes up, biting back a pained sound because that is _not_ comfortable right now. “He’s the heir to the Hale dynasty. There are what, two left?”

“Three.” Deaton gently pushes Jackson back, waiting until he lies down. “Derek, his uncle, who you met briefly, and his youngest sister. And now he will have a child. Stay still, I’m almost done.”

Jackson is still lying on his back, buck naked with his boxers around one ankle when there’s a sharp rap on the door. “Dude!” Stilinski calls out. “Your fuck-buddy’s here along with his keeper. Should I send them in?”

“Give us five minutes, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton says, and Jackson’s impressed that he doesn’t push the issue. “Get dressed, Jackson.”

“Does this report go to me, Hale, or my father?” Jackson drags his boxers back up, then yanks on his jeans. He doesn’t bother with the shirt; after all, it’s not like they didn’t spend two days sweaty and naked.

“Your father has no idea what you are doing right now.” Deaton smiles thinly. “He hasn’t asked. I do not intend to tell him.”

The concession is unexpected, but welcome, and Jackson feels a weight drop off his shoulders. “Thank you. Other than that… I’m okay?”

“Perfectly healthy.” Deaton puts his equipment away neatly in the bag. “Your womb is already fully formed and well on track, and the child is implanted solidly. There are no dangers to either it or you, and you should begin to experience the expected side effects of pregnancy soon. Nausea, bloating, unexplained shifts in appetite, and possibly an increase in sexual desire. You should speak with your alpha about how you will manage the latter.”

Jackson’s gaze narrows. “What do you mean?”

Deaton’s expression is completely blank when he looks at Jackson. “I mean that you could rub your dick raw masturbating, or you can choose to sleep with the alpha who has claimed you. The latter will go further towards satisfying your need while pregnant. I would not recommend sleeping with anyone else; it has been known to set a mated alpha on a path of extreme violence, both towards the other party, and his mate.”

“No sex with anyone but my hand, and even that won’t be satisfying?” Jackson rolls his eyes. “You could have mentioned that before, Deaton.”

“I did. You claimed that you understood, and chose to ignore my warnings.” He closes the bag with a snap. “We have papers to sign, Jackson. Let’s go.”

#

It’s awkward, at first, with Stilinski sitting on one arm of the sofa, gesturing wildly as he talks to Derek Hale. At first Jackson thinks they know each other, but no, it’s just the way Stilinski is, befriending everyone while Peter Hale watches, arms crossed and a smirk lighting his lips as Derek remains fascinated by whatever Stilinski is saying.

The small smile falls away when Derek looks over to see Jackson, his expression going cold as if a wall shuts down between them.

“I told you that you picked the wrong omega,” Peter says lightly. “But no, you wouldn’t listen. You had to think with your dick, and now you must deal with the consequences.”

“Stilinski isn’t a better omega than I am,” Jackson says firmly. “Decent lineage, but he talks too much. And he’s clumsy.”

“It’s a graceful sort of flailing,” Stilinski protests, and Jackson glares until he slips from the couch and takes a step back.

“Get out,” Jackson says, and for a moment he thinks Stilinski will protest, but McCall grabs his arm and they leave together.

Jackson waits until he hears them thunder down the stairs and out the door. Then he meets Hale’s gaze again briefly before letting his own drop to the floor. It isn’t scripted, or a planned submission to his alpha; it’s all instinct.

“Nicely done,” Peter murmurs. “You may be able to salvage this one after all.”

“Keep your opinion to yourself; you’re only here for the paperwork,” Derek growls, and with that, Deaton spreads the files out across the coffee table, supplying pens to each person.

They sign the papers concerning Jackson’s exam first: the confirmation that he is pregnant, and the understanding that the child will be delivered and cared for no matter the gender, as it is impossible to expect male or female progeny at this time.

“Is there a chance of twins?” Peter arches one eyebrow. “Or perhaps triplets?”

“One child,” Deaton says. There is something in his tone that sets Peter back and puts Jackson at ease. No matter what has gone between them in the past, no matter that Deaton is his father’s man first… Jackson trusts him to have his best interests at heart. And he needs that now, needs to know that there is _someone_ in his corner other than himself.

Deaton sifts through papers and over the next half hour Jackson signs away his rights to naming the child, raising the child, and even seeing the child after its birth unless there is a medical complication which requires his presence in the child’s life. He accepts payment in the amount of fifty thousand dollars, to be paid in three installments directly to his student loans over the course of the pregnancy, with a bonus twenty-five thousand after the child is born.

Jackson had only asked for fifty. Had only _expected_ fifty. “You don’t have to—”

Deaton sets his hand on Jackson’s, and he goes silent. Derek’s expression is stony. “Take it,” he growls, and Jackson nods.

The restrictions to his activities over the course of the pregnancy are laid out, along with the financial tethers which will provide for his home, food, and spending money, as well as any and all pre-natal care and hospital care for birthing.

“I need to apply for jobs while I’m pregnant.” Jackson lifts his chin, his own jaw tight. “I can’t be completely secluded, and I will need to interview. I need to have somewhere to go when I’m done.”

Peter waves dismissively. “Go back to your family.”

“Not an option.”

“Oh, really?” Peter leans forward, expression suddenly interested. “So you are a pure breeding omega with nowhere to live once this is done? How fascinating.”

There is a sound of _something_ that pulls at Jackson’s soul, dark and deep and angry, and Peter is pushed back against the sofa. “Leave it,” Derek orders, eyes flashing red.

Jackson hates the way he feels that flash in his gut, the way he knows his own eyes answer with the bright blue of hunger. He closes his eyes and twists his fingers into fists, holding onto his control. “Are we done?” he asks, and when Deaton assents, Jackson leaves.

He hears the footsteps behind him, quick and rough against the floor and catching up just in time to nudge him into the wall, almost gentle for all that Derek leans into him, holding him there with solidity and weight. “Don’t run away from me.”

“I’m not.” Jackson lies, and he is sure Derek hears his heart skip. “Your uncle is an asshole.”

“Wait until you meet my sister.” Derek’s touch loosens and he pushes at Jackson’s shoulder, turning him so that they face each other. Derek leans against him, bodies aligned and the wood at Jackson’s back, holding him up.

Jackson huffs a disgruntled sound. “I have things to do.”

“You will call me if you need anything.” When Jackson turns away, Derek growls again, the sound rumbling through his chest and into Jackson. “ _You will call me_ ,” Derek orders.

“I will,” Jackson agrees, because he’s helpless to say anything else. As Derek pulls back, Jackson tells him, “Stilinski is a little shit. You’re lucky you didn’t take him.”

He doesn’t know what he expects Derek to say in return, but there are no words. Derek simply steps away and leaves him standing there, body aching and uncomfortable in the wake of his leaving.

#

Jackson doesn’t see Derek after that. For two weeks, he slowly accustoms himself to living with Stilinski and McCall. He starts to think of them as _Stiles_ and _Scott_ , if only because he hears them talking to each other constantly. Stiles never shuts up and after a while Jackson tunes him out, like the white noise sound of his mother’s fish tank, or the low hum of a window air conditioner.

He meets the other alphas—Isaac and Allison come by often to visit Scott or take him out with them, and Deucalion shows up ever other day, like clockwork, and spends an hour making Stiles scream. Jackson assumes the screaming’s a good thing and wishes for better soundproofing in the quad so that he didn’t have to know exactly what noises Stiles makes when he’s being fucked.

It’s not as bad as he expected. The roof doesn’t leak, the food is plentiful, and they’ve all managed to keep out of each other’s way, aside from the time that Stiles ate Jackson’s pasta. Stiles claims he was sleep-walking; Jackson doesn’t believe him. Stiles is just a dick, but that’s okay after a while, too, because so is Jackson.

It almost starts to work.

It’s right around three weeks after meeting Derek that Jackson feels the itch under his skin. It’s there when he wakes up in the morning, and by the end of his shower it’s almost untenable, driving him to distraction. He wraps his hand around his dick and uses soap for lubricant, bringing himself off quickly. It helps… but not for long.

He feels the hunger build, keeping him hard and aching, making his ass wet enough that he showers three times and refuses to wear anything but sweats without underwear. When he walks out of the bathroom the third time, Stiles stops him in the hall, one hand up but not touching his chest.

“Dude.” Stiles looks him up and down. “You need to get fucked.”

“Not interested.” Jackson shoulders past him, ignoring the sharp laugh that follows.

“Not what I meant,” Stiles calls out. “By your alpha. Derek. Do you think it’s my idea that Deucalion’s here so often?”

Jackson glances back, gaze narrowing. Stiles is standing there, hands spread with the palms up. Inoffensive and his amber eyes seem honest. “I thought you liked it,” Jackson says. “You get off on it.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s sex. There’s not much about sex that is bad, right? And yeah, I get off, and if I _don’t_ , I’m probably going to go insane. It’s a side-effect of the pregnancy. Apparently back in the dark ages, when alphas and omegas mated for life, not business, the omega’s sex drive created a bond between them. The biological imperative is still around, but society’s moved past it. Didn’t you sign the papers that said Derek has to come whenever you need him? Didn’t you set up some kind of a schedule? You shouldn’t have made it to this point. I can smell you from here, dude.”

Jackson’s jaw goes tight, twitching as he grits his teeth.

“Just call him.” Stiles shrugs again. “It’s sex, Jackson. Deal with it. And maybe you should read up more about what you’re doing, because sometimes I get the feeling you went into this blind.”

“Fine.” Jackson doesn’t address the comments, because they don’t need to be addressed. Stiles doesn’t need to know anything about why he’s here and why he’s doing it. That’s between him and Deaton. He stalks into his room and grabs his phone, dialing the number that Deaton stored there for him and falling back on the bed as it starts to ring.

“Hello?” Derek’s voice rumbles through the line, higher pitched than Jackson remembers and yet singing through his bones as soon as he hears it. He whines softly, his free hand sneaking under the waistband of his sweats, shoving them down so he can get his dick out.

“It’s me.” Jackson closes his eyes, trying to shut the world out, hand moving slowly over his dick. “You said to call. Stilinski said I should call. So I’m calling.”

“Are you all right?”

Derek sounds so concerned and Jackson almost laughs, the sound strangled as he tries to keep it inside. “Yes. No. I just— _fuck_.” His hand dips below his balls, finding the wet there that is even worse now that he can hear Derek, now that he can think of the idea of Derek fucking him. “I need you.”

Silence.

Jackson’s low whine rises to a growl as he snaps, “Did you hear me? _I need you_.”

“I’ll be there.” The line clicks over to dead air and Jackson whimpers at the loss of Derek. He pushes his sweats all the way off, and now he can smell his own need, the scent of his ache ripe and musky. He loses track of time while he strokes his cock, finding a rhythm that lets him ride the edge without going over, staying right there, so close that it almost hurts.

He hears the door to the apartment slam open, the footsteps coming quickly down the hall. The scent hits as soon as the door opens, and Jackson rolls over, ass in the air and knees spread. He needs this so desperately that he can’t even think; all he can do is present himself and pray to be rewarded by his alpha.

A hand strokes over his flank and Jackson leans into the touch, his body recognizing his alpha. He whines softly, needy, and Derek responds by pressing two fingers into him, fucking him slowly with one hand while Jackson hears the rustle and struggle of him trying to get out of his clothes with only the one free hand.

“Undress,” Jackson manages to beg, and Derek takes his hand back long enough to make quick work of it.

They fit together perfectly, Jackson bucking back as Derek thrusts deep, and he cries out at the pleasure of it. Like a lock and key, this is what he needed. His hand was nothing; his body has been ready for Derek all day, and he tumbles into his orgasm without realizing how close he is. Body bowed, he spills onto the sheets, cock still hard even after he’s done. Every stroke seems to touch something deep inside, sending shivers through his body. He is whining as he pushes back, begs for more from Derek. Harder, faster. When teeth close over his shoulder, when claws grip his hip, then he sees white and cries out. He comes again while Derek marks him and empties himself deep inside of Jackson, filling him until it drips out of his ass.

They collapse onto he bed, and Jackson is loathe to move away from Derek. He needs to be close, fitting himself back to front while Derek wraps around him and holds on.

The door to his room is still open. Jackson cocks his head and listens, but there is no sign of anyone else. He hopes Stiles left quickly.

“I didn’t know,” Derek murmurs, fingers tracing over the small marks that are already healing in Jackson’s skin. “I knew you would need me, but not like this.”

“Deucalion fucks Stiles every other day.” Jackson’s voice is low because he doesn’t want to ask for that. He doesn’t want to _see_ Derek that often. He doesn’t want to connect with him. This is a _job_ , not a relationship. They aren’t even fuck-buddies, except by necessity. “Scott—he goes out with Allison and Isaac, they’re probably fucking somewhere, I’m sure. I’ve been fine, though, until today.”

Derek’s hand slides over the sharp bone of his hip, moving across his belly, fingers splayed against the still flat skin. “I’ll come by weekly,” he says slowly. “If you need more, call me.”

“Hearing your voice on the phone was almost enough to get me off.” It’s hard to admit it, but at the same time, Jackson feels incapable of keeping anything from Derek right now. His mouth wants to speak words that he would normally never let escape his mind. “Maybe a recording would work.”

“Probably not.” Derek touches his back now, sliding down the wet crevasse between his ass cheeks, stroking into the slick hole that is still open after being fucked. “It won’t help with this. It’s hormones, and pheromones. I’ll come by on Saturdays, and if you need me here more, you will tell me.”

Jackson doesn’t want to need him. He doesn’t want Derek there weekly, and he definitely doesn’t want him there every other fucking day, fucking him into the mattress while the others listen to him scream and know just how much he needs it. He refuses to answer, and Derek cradles his chin, large hand tilting his head back, forcing him to bare his throat until Jackson whines in acquiescence.

“Good,” Derek murmurs.

He rolls Jackson onto his stomach; his body feels loose and lax, comfortable under Derek’s touch. When Derek lifts him, puts a pillow under his belly, Jackson arches into the touch. It feels good when Derek is fucking him again, soft and slow, an easy sort of motion that soothes the prickle under his skin. He could stay like that for hours, letting Derek use him until there is nothing left of Jackson, nothing more than a man who floats in a void-like haze of pleasure.

And he does, until Derek is fucked out and there is nothing more to give. Derek gathers him close then and Jackson closes his eyes, resting peacefully.

“Every Saturday,” Derek reminds him, and Jackson is helpless to do anything but agree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Have some angsty, porny goodness to round out your weekend. :) I've had a busy week doing RL things, so I'm glad I had written ahead and had this all ready to go without me needing to draft anything. I hope you all have had a wonderful week, and have fun things planned for this week as well.
> 
> Thank you so much for being here and reading, and thank you for all your lovely comments. Please, feel free to go tell the world about this story. *grins*
> 
> I will see you all again with chapter three on Sunday, February 16th (after I get my arse kicked or more hopefully kick arse myself at a TKD tournament the day before!). Until then, please feel free to come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and say hello!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: morning sickness in this chapter, if that bothers you.

### Month 2

_~~~ _You can have my isolation_ ~~~_

For a few weeks, Jackson thinks he’s going to get lucky with this pregnancy. He’s horny, yeah, but the weekly deal with Derek should fix that. He hasn’t gained weight yet, he’s not eating anything odd. And he’s not sick.

Until he _is_ sick.

He’s fine right up until the moment that he puts a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. The milk tastes off, the cereal is too sweet, and everything just twists inside of him.

Jackson barely makes it into the bathroom that Stiles and Scott share, landing on his knees before the toilet. He hears the voices in the background and knows he looks _weak_ in front of Stiles and Scott, but they aren’t the ones puking their guts up. Let one of them say _one thing_ and he will puke on their shoes, he swears it.

His stomach is just barely coming under control when he feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and a cold, wet washcloth is offered. “It helps,” Stiles says. “Scott told me the first time I got sick, and I swore I was dying. He said he’s been sick pretty much since Allison impregnated him. He just _knew_ because instead of wanting to fuck his way through another round with her and Isaac, he wanted to throw up. Me… it’s mostly certain things. Like pizza.”

If Stiles were a dog, his expression would be the most pitiful thing, like missing out on pizza has destroyed his entire world. Then again, Stiles is a pretty simple creature, so maybe it has.

Jackson tries to maintain his composure, as much as he can while he wipes his face off and pushes himself to his feet before he holds the cold cloth against his forehead. “This is the first time,” he mutters.

“I know.”

He gives Stiles a _look_ at that, because Jackson hasn’t exactly been keeping tabs on when his roommates are losing their meals in the main bathroom. Stiles just shrugs. “You have your own bathroom, sure, but you’ve also been pretty much eating everything. And that kind of sound carries. Just because you don’t check on your roommates doesn’t mean we don’t check on you.”

Jackson doesn’t know what to say about that, but Stiles doesn’t seem to expect him to say anything. He pats Jackson’s arm and steps away, like he’s going to leave.

“You should have privacy,” Jackson says slowly. “Sex. The bathroom.” He shrugs. “It’s all private. You don’t need me listening in on it.”

Stiles’s smile is bland. “Probably not,” he agrees. “I’ll go make up some eggs; maybe that’ll go down better than the cereal. Sometimes people can’t eat sugar when they’re pregnant.” He shudders. “I think I’d lose half my diet if that were true. Losing out on pizza is bad enough; I can’t live without donuts. But the worst is when you crave something you know is going to make you ill. Like fried dough. I want it desperately, but the _idea_ of it is almost enough to make me hurl.”

He disappears before Jackson can say anything, and wouldn’t you know that the little shit is almost starting to be likable?

Jackson sinks to the floor and leans back against the tub, liking the cold feel of it behind him. He puts the cold cloth on his forehead and lets it seep in and relax him until he feels like he can get up without risking a repeat performance.

By the time he makes it to the kitchen, Stiles is putting scrambled eggs and toast on a plate. He nudges it towards Jackson. “Eat. You probably need it. I think we’re at the point where if we don’t eat enough, our bodies will start digesting themselves.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, pregnancy isn’t pretty.” Stiles puts the rest of the eggs on another plate for himself, and drops two more slices of bread into the toaster. “We’re carrying around these parasites inside of us, and they’re going to do horrible things to our insides before they come out. Not to mention that we actually have to get them out. The body of an omega is an amazing, weird, and terrifying thing. Childbirth is not pretty.”

“Did you read the same books I did?” Jackson points with the remains of his toast before he shoves it in his mouth. He’s starving, actually, now that the illness is over. He still doesn’t want milk or cereal, but he’s pretty sure he could go through a half loaf of bread easily. He gets up to pull the two fresh slices of toast out and toss them to Stiles, then put in two more.

“Probably not, since you don’t seem to know much about what’s going on,” Stiles tells him. “What _did_ you read?”

The pamphlets that were given to him when he signed up as a potential carrier for pay. The _what’s happening to your body_ books that his mother gave him when he was twelve and just coming into his heritage. Some basic biology texts to get through his freshman science credit in college. Jackson presses his lips together. “I read enough.” When Stiles snorts, Jackson shifts topics.

“Is it a Deucalion day?”

Stiles scrapes butter across bread, paying close attention to exactly how evenly it is distributed. “Tomorrow. Yesterday.” One shoulder rises and falls. “You were asleep when he got here so you probably didn’t notice.”

“Every other day is a lot.” Jackson doesn’t want to think about dealing with Derek every other day. Every week is more than he wanted.

“It’s like any job. You take what the boss dishes out.” Stiles piles the eggs onto one slice of toast and jams the other down on top of it, picking up the messy sandwich to take a bite. “Or what the job requires. Mine happens to require a lot of physical interaction. Yours doesn’t.”

“Scott’s?”

“I think he’s perfectly happy with any level of physical interaction that his job allows.” Stiles smirks. “Every time he talks about Allison or Isaac he gets this stupid smile on his face. I keep telling him not to fall in love, but I don’t think he’s listening.”

“It’s just a _job_ ,” Jackson says tightly.

“Exactly.” Stiles shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth. “And he’s not even in as deep as Erica.”

Erica. Jackson should call Erica, because he hasn’t been thinking about her enough in the last month, or checked in on her. Although he has to admit, he feels a bit betrayed by the fact that out of all of them, she is living with her alpha. “Her alpha seems like a controlling bitch.”

“In all the best ways,” Stiles says with a grin. “From what I understand, in all the _very_ best ways.”

Jackson doesn’t want to think about it, so he grabs the toast as soon as it pops and the plate of eggs. “Thanks,” he says, raising the plate so Stiles knows what he means. Then he retreats to his room and closes the door before Stiles can follow. He’s had enough of being social for the day. This isn’t about making friends; this is about having a baby. And the sooner it’s done, the better.

Right now he should focus on looking for a job and figuring out where he’ll go next. Seven months seems far away, but Jackson knows from experience that time goes quickly when you’re complacent and not paying attention. Otherwise adulthood never would have snuck up on him the way it did.

#

He dials Erica’s number from memory, then lies back on the bed and waits.

“My breasts are amazing!”

“Hello to you, too,” Jackson says dryly. “Is that your personal opinion, something Boyd thinks you should tell me, or a professional assessment from your alpha?”

“All of the above,” she tells him, and he can hear the grin in her voice. “I’ve gained a cup size, the nipples are big enough to chew on—and it feels amazing when someone does. Seriously, you male omegas miss out with the whole no breasts thing. You’d love it, Jax.”

“Who knows, maybe we get the same sensitivity.” He could test this theory, but not right now. That would be completely weird, because he and Erica don’t have that kind of relationship. “I don’t remember reading about it.” He hesitates. “What did _you_ read up on before this?”

“I let Boyd handle that part and tell me the important bits.” He imagines the way her hands help tell the story. “He’s invested in what happens to my body, and I trust him. Didn’t Deaton clue you in on anything you need to know?”

“Of course.” And maybe he did and maybe Jackson just wasn’t listening. Or maybe parts were left out. Unless there’s a way to rewind his memory to find out, he’ll never know for sure. “How are things going with you and your alpha?”

“Lydia Martin.”

“Of the _Lockheed Martin_ Martins?” Money and brains, Jackson knows that much. “Is she on the board, or just an heiress?” Both families involved in that corporation are brutally alpha—he went to school with a distant cousin Lockheed who still had more _alpha_ in his blood than the average head of household.

“One of their chief analysts.” Erica’s voice bounces happily. “She’s fucking brilliant. And detail oriented. And has absolutely no issues sharing a bed with two people. Boyd likes her.”

And Boyd doesn’t like _anyone_. He barely tolerates Stiles, ignores Scott, and puts up with Jackson only because he’s known Erica longer since they went to preschool together. “You sound happy,” he says quietly, because this doesn’t sound like business. “I’m guessing pregnancy suits you.”

“I am going to fucking _glow_ ,” she chortles. “I could do without most of the side effects, but honestly, this isn’t a tough way to make some money. When we’re done, Boyd and I will open the shop and we’ll be set. No massive loan to get our business going, so what more could we ask? I’ll honestly even do it again if she wants another one.”

Jackson’s pretty sure there’s an answer to that, but he can’t think of it off the top of his head. “You landed on your feet. And it sounds like your alpha’s got balls.”

“You didn’t think anyone would touch us.”

“I didn’t,” Jackson agrees, because he’d been vocal enough about it before the choosing. “I wouldn’t if I were an alpha.”

“And that’s why you’re not.” The words hit the air between them and they both go silent. Jackson doesn’t say a single thing even though there are _plenty_ of things he could say to that. He just waits her out, pushing her with his silence until she says, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” His jaw is tight, teeth clenched to keep from letting the words slip out. He finally manages to huff a low sigh. “I know, Erica. You’re not a bitch. You didn’t mean…”

“I just meant to tease.” She sounds quiet and sober; he can hear the apology in her tone. “You should come over sometime. I could bake for you. Or you could let me and Boyd get Lydia’s _people_ to give us a huge spread of whatever you want to eat. At least, I’m assuming there is an intersecting group of foods we can both eat. Are you sick?”

“Just started.” Talking to Erica usually cheers him up, but right now the fact that they’ve known each other for so long is only reminding him of the bad parts of his childhood. “I’ll get in touch when I’ve figured out what I can and can’t eat. We’ll do movies. Tell me she has an air hockey table.”

“I’ll tell her to buy me one. That I have to have it.” Erica’s voice twists with a grin. “She dotes on me, Jackson. Not to mention that she says my tongue is better than any other one she’s ever had on her. Plus— _breasts_. She loves ‘em. They like to make me squeak, because they are _so_ fucking tender right now.”

“TMI, Erica.”

She laughs at the dry tone. “Go. Sleep. Stop feeling like a bitch. It’ll pass. Or it won’t and you’ll be pissy for the next eight months. Maybe you need a good fuck.”

“Just saw him. We’ve got a weekly thing going.”

“Weekly? Jax, you should really…”

“Weekly’s _fine_.” He doesn’t want to discuss the specifics of his sex life with Erica, best friend or not. “I don’t need it every other day like Stiles.”

“Hey, is he okay?” Erica’s voice drops low, as if Stiles might be able to hear her through the phone. And he could, sure, if he were in the same room. But not all the way across the apartment, with closed doors between them. “He hasn’t called me in a couple days.”

“I didn’t call you until today and I’m okay.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” She’d nudge him if he were here; he’s familiar with the way her sharp fingers poke into his ribs when she wants information. “But I’ll let it go. And Stiles?”

“He’s doing fine. He and Deucalion get it on noisily, he’s stopped eating my food, and he’s even a decent guy when he’s not bouncing off the walls with energy.”

“Hah! I knew you two would get along if you gave it a chance.”

“Don’t push it.” He smiles slightly, and closes his eyes. “I’ll come over soon. Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of warning.”

“G’night, Jax.”

“It’s morning,” he reminds her, and she only laughs.

“We’re pregnant. It’s always time to sleep.”

The thing is, Jackson can’t argue that. One month in, and he feels exhausted all the time. He ends the call and rolls over to take a nap.

#

He wakes when the door opens, blinking into the mid-morning light. There’s a girl standing in the doorway, head tilted and arms crossed. Her hazel eyes are narrowed, her features slightly pinched when she looks at him. “So,” she says. “You’re Jackson. Peter says you’re an asshole.”

He inhales and tastes hints of Derek and Peter in the air, and that tells him everything he needs to know. “You must be Cora,” he returns. “Strangely enough, your brother implied that you’re an asshole, too.”

She laughs then, and it changes her features entirely, lighting her from the inside out. She crosses the room in just a few steps, her gait long and lanky before she drops onto the bed in a smooth motion. “I like you. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

“We don’t need to.” Jackson is barely awake and that makes him moody. Or maybe hormones make him moody; he’s still not sure he’s in full control of himself anymore. He pushes himself to sitting. “You and me,” he gestures between them. “We’re nothing. This is nothing. It’s a job.”

She leans in, putting both hands on either side of him, her face right up in his. “It’s a job,” she whispers. “It’s the kind of job where you’re carrying my brother’s baby. If you’d rather, I can get Peter here, but I’m guessing you’d rather hang out with me. You don’t like Derek much, do you?”

He sucks in air like he’s drowning, her scent slipping under his skin and whispering to him. She smells more like family to him than his family ever has, and it makes him want to grab her and pull her in, twist her down to the bed and curl up around her or let her curl around him and just hold on and revel in the sense of pack. He blames the child inside of him for the weakness and the sudden bond to this alien pack. One shoulder lifts in a shrug. “I don’t care about Derek either way.”

Which is a lie. Jackson likes the way Derek makes him feel and hates it all at once. He doesn’t like to lose control. But the omega in him, that _loves_ to lose control, to be cared for. It just isn’t what he was raised to be.

Cora raises one eyebrow in challenge, and Jackson’s gaze drops. She grins, bright and feral.

“I’m an alpha,” she says lightly. “But you knew that. I’m sure you’ve looked into our family.” She says it in the way that says that she _knows_ that he hasn’t bothered to look beneath the surface of what everyone knows. “Every Hale is an alpha. Some of us just happen to be _alphas_ , like Derek. Some of us are just… like me. I don’t want to head a huge household. I’ll find myself a nice beta someday, we’ll have adorable beta children. They won’t be Hales. Peter hates that, you know.”

Her voice is light, but there is a warning carried beneath it that Jackson doesn’t fully understand, and she doesn’t seem to be inviting him to ask, which means he doesn’t care and asks anyway. “Why’s Derek your alpha if Peter’s older? And why does Peter even care? He could step aside and form his own splinter pack, be the alpha of that.”

“There aren’t enough of us.” The look she gives him is sharp and she finally leans back, giving him space; he feels the loss keenly. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“I knew that.” He hasn’t thought about it with respect to himself much, but then, this has nothing to do with him. Jackson is a receptacle. A carrier. Once the child is born, his part of this family will be done. “Packs reform all the time. They combine, they change. Derek could marry Lydia Martin and form a dual head-of-household arrangement with a pair of strong alphas. They could have kept omegas for breeding. It’s the normal way to do things.”

Cora snorts. “You don’t know Derek very well if you think that would work.”

“I don’t know Derek at all,” Jackson points out. “I know his dick, that’s it, and it feels good, yes, thanks.”

She laughs outright at that, her hand sliding against his knee. “I definitely like you. Snark and bite. You’ll keep him on his toes. By which I mean you should see him more often. Remind him he needs to take a break from shouldering the Hale responsibility. We have distant cousins running the day to day business. He has Peter to deal with the assholes that need to be dealt with. And he has me to make the rounds. He needs a break.”

Jackson frowns. “I’m not a break. I’m a responsibility.”

“If he gets off when he’s here, you are _definitely_ a break. A mind-blowing orgasm is good for the soul.” She pats his knee. “I’m satisfied that this is going to work out well. I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the choosing ceremony—”

“It’s not much of a _ceremony_.”

She smirks. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Derek decided he absolutely had to fuck you into the wall rather than the nice obedient omega Peter had picked out for him. And that I wasn’t here for the signing. Peter’s hard to take sometimes, I know. I got stuck in China for an extra two weeks, but I’m trying to keep my travel to a minimum until the baby’s born. I figure Derek could use someone on his side.”

“I thought Peter was his adjudicator.” Because there’s always someone for the omega, but the alpha has someone as well. There has to be someone on each side with a clear mind when the rut takes over.

“Definitely not.” Cora’s lips press thin. “He had that right while I was gone, but as long as I’m around, I’m the one who plays Derek’s sense and conscience. Peter doesn’t have enough for himself, let alone enough to share with Derek.”

It’s too much to take in, and Jackson doesn’t know how to parse it into making sense. He files away scraps of information in ways that make sense to him—Peter’s trouble and Cora’s someone to be trusted—and that trip his instincts as being _right_. “Did Peter pick Stiles for Derek?” He worries at the thought in his mind, poking at it even while he asks the question.

“It doesn’t matter what Peter planned; Deucalion got to the kid first.”

Jackson arches one eyebrow. “That kid is the same age as you and me,” he points out. “He’s also pretty far from _obedient_.”

“He’s more innocent.” Cora gives Jackson a look and he wonders what she sees, if she can look past the outer walls and straight to the lies beneath his skin. “He seems younger to me.”

His head tilts as he settles his armor in around him by the way he holds himself, even sitting up in bed. He has one more question, and he’s not sure she’ll answer. But the way Erica spoke of Lydia makes him want to know how much of this is expectations and how much is actual desire. Derek seems entirely different than Lydia, or Allison for that matter. “Does he even want this kid?”

Cora’s eyebrows both go up. “Derek?” When Jackson nods, she looks away, and that alone is telling to him, along with the long silence that stretches out between them.

“Yes,” she finally says. “This baby will be wanted.”

Her phrasing makes the entire answer suspect in his mind. “Even if the child turns out to be an omega?”

“He signed the papers, didn’t he?”

“Paperwork doesn’t matter.” Jackson’s voice is flat, and Cora’s expression gentles. She moves closer, gathering him in and rubbing her cheek against his, leaving her scent of family behind.

“Even if it is an omega,” she whispers. “Trust me, Derek will love this child, no matter what.”

 _Even if he doesn’t know it yet_.

There is no qualification spoken out loud, but Jackson can guess at it. He is starting to see the outline of this family, this tiny dynasty that is left from the ashes of the Hales. He closes his eyes and swallows hard and wonders how it is that he almost thinks that he might have made a friend in Cora Hale.

#

It is a Wednesday when he calls Derek in the middle of the day. Jackson locks the door to his bedroom and sits back on the bed, up against the wall with his knees drawn up. He is naked, and he aches, but it isn’t as bad as it could be.

Still.

He dials the number and feels his breath catch when Derek answers the phone. He nods to hear his name, then remembers that this isn’t Skype. Jackson touches the speaker button on the phone and sets it down beside him on the bed. “I’m here,” he says, when Derek says his name again.

“Are you okay?”

“You don’t have to come here,” Jackson says. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

A lie. He needs to hear his voice, needs to feel the shiver that skitters down his spine at the sound of it. But at the same time, yes, he wants to hear it, too. He wants to give Derek something, because what Cora told him has weighed heavily on him. He sucks in a breath, pushing every ounce of learned authoritativeness into his voice when he speaks.

“Shut the door,” he tells Derek. “Lock it. And take your pants off.”

There is hesitation on the other end of the line. “What?”

“Shut the door,” Jackson repeats, his voice slightly louder, firmer. There’s a sharp edge to it. “Lock the door. And take off your pants.”

“Since when do you—”

“Please.” He doesn’t mean to plead, but that is the omega in him responding to Derek’s shock. He hears footsteps, the sound of a lock clicking shut on the other side, then the rustle of fabric before Derek is back.

Jackson sighs and tension slips away. He cradles his dick, stroking it roughly, his other hand sliding back to rim his ass, teasing at the wetness already starting to grow. “I want you to get off with me,” he whispers.

“I’m working,” Derek growls softly, but Jackson can hear the soft slap of fingers on flesh as well.

“You can work more after. I need this.” Jackson tries to keep his tone even, but his voice skips when he thrusts his hips up. “Fuck. You need this.”

Because Derek needs to relax. And Jackson needs Derek to relax, so that his wolf settles. Otherwise he isn’t doing a good job as an omega. Otherwise Jackson’s wolf whines and cries out that his alpha is upset, and it will drive Jackson insane to listen to it.

“You should be on your knees in my office,” Derek whispers, and Jackson can imagine it, kneeling there on the hardwood floor, his mouth wrapped around Derek’s dick. He can feel the fingers in his hair, and he fucks himself with his finger at the thought of it.

“You could fuck my throat,” Jackson murmurs back at him. “I’d go down on you so far that my nose would be at your belly, and you’d grab my hair. You’d use claws, tipped in my skin, and you’d claim me. You’d leave marks on me that would take time to heal because my alpha gave them to me, and everyone would know that you held me in place while you fucked my face until you came all over me.”

He whines softly, one finger not enough. He shifts to get a second finger, then a third, and shoves them deep inside himself.

“It wouldn’t take long for you to do it again,” he says, trying to thrust in time with Derek’s rough breath. “Then you could bend me over, and my ass would be soaked for you. It’s already soaked, because it knows you’re the one to fuck me. You’re the one to shove your dick in and make it so fucking rough that the desk moves with every thrust. Or you could put me up against the window, just in case someone looks up, and they see me there while you pound into me.”

Jackson didn’t think this would be _this_ could, but it’s almost as good as having Derek there himself, as he hears the softly murmured words of _fuck_ and _you’re so good_ and _your fucking mouth_. When Derek whines his _name_ , Jackson can’t stop himself, coming all over the bed and his hands. He hears Derek’s name fall from his lips in return, and the clear sound of Derek’s orgasm groans from the speaker of the phone.

They are both breathing roughly in the aftermath.

“I’m still coming on Saturday,” Derek says, and Jackson laughs at the unintentional pun.

“Yes, you definitely are. Several times.” He smirks, imagining the way Derek must look right now, spunk all over his hand, his dick softening slowly but still thick and red. Jackson swallows hard, because he likes the idea of it, and wishes he were there to help him clean up.

Jackson closes his eyes, presses his lips together. “You can come Friday night if you want,” he mutters. “Stay through.” There was already an assumption that Derek would stay Saturday night after fucking him into the mattress, but right now, Jackson just wants to stay in bed all weekend. So what if the roommates hear? They already have to listen to Deucalion and Stiles. Jackson _wants_ , and he doesn’t see a reason not to have it. If he’s going to be a fucking omega, he might as well be a _fucking omega_.

But on the other end of the phone, he can hear the walls closing off in the way Derek speaks. “We’ll see.” The tone is bitten off and sharp. “If not, Saturday.”

“Of course.” Because in the end, yes, it’s still just a job. No matter how much Jackson’s wolf whines for pack and family, this is nothing more than work.

As the phone clicks silent, Jackson reminds himself of that again. He will _not_ let himself get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to Sunday! Sorry for the slightly late update; I'm trying to squeeze it in before the day gets even busier! I've had a crazy weekend already between the snow last week and a tae kwon do tournament yesterday. Anyway, I'm so glad you are all here and thank your for reading and for your comments!
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, February 23rd. If you'd like to find me in the meantime, you can join me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com). I love asks!


	4. Chapter 4

### Month 3

_~~~ Help me get away from myself ~~~_

Jackson wakes up on a Saturday morning to find Derek stretched over him, three fingers already worked into Jackson’s hole, fucking him lazily. It seems strange to look up at him, to see that intent expression as Derek strokes him deeply. They have developed a routine in the last month, after Derek showed up that first Friday night with sharp words that it was _just that once_. Forty-eight hours every weekend, almost all of it spent in bed, lazily fucking and sleeping and eating what food they managed to scrounge when they were willing to leave the room. But there has always been an air of impersonality about it, with Jackson face down, fingers twisted in the sheets while Derek pushes into him.

Not like this, with Derek watching him, lips pursed and waiting for Jackson to wake up. Not like this, with Derek’s eyes flashing red, coaxing a reaction from Jackson until his hips rise and he fucks into the fist Derek gives him, tight and wet around his cock. Not like this, with Derek patiently getting him off, waiting until Jackson spurts in white streams over his own chest before he settles between his legs and pushes in, watching him the entire time.

Never face to face.

Never so _personal_.

Jackson bites his lip and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back until Derek growls. “Look at me,” Derek orders, and Jackson has to do just that. He can’t look away if he wants, his wolf obeying his alpha.

His breath shudders in his chest as Derek rolls his hips, the movement lazy and needy all at once, pushing deep with every thrust but drawing it out, taking his time. Fingers grip Jackson’s hip, claws tipped out to dig into tender skin, biting a little deeper when Jackson whines from it.

Derek stills, taking the time to pull Jackson’s legs up over his shoulders, bottoming out inside of him and rocking so very slightly, just enough to tease at them both.

“Fuck,” Jackson whispers, and Derek smirks because he _said_ something. Because Jackson _needs_ this, and Derek seems to get off on that, to want to push him to the edge where he’s screaming and beyond control.

“Flip me over,” Jackson begs when he means to order him. “Please. Pound into me.”

Derek shakes his head. “Like this,” he says, and he leans forward, stretching Jackson’s legs back towards his head until he’s bent in half and all he can feel is the way Derek’s hips jerk against him, fucking him deep. Hands slide up Jackson’s sides, over the edges of his ribcage, thumbs diving in to stroke over his nipples then capture them and twist.

Jackson thinks he could come from that alone. His nipples are so fucking sensitive, and he whines, pressing into the touch, begging for more.

“You’re going to come again,” Derek whispers, locking gazes with him. “I’m not going to touch your cock, but it’s hard already, isn’t it? You’re such a good fucking omega, and you’re going to come on my cock and squeeze me so fucking hard that I can’t help it.”

He pinches Jackson’s nipples again, and his body jerks under Derek’s touch, unable to control himself. “Please,” he whispers. “Oh fuck, _please_.”

Derek pushes Jackson’s knees wide, leaning over him, teeth finding his throat. Jackson tilts his head back, allowing him better access as he cries out, reaching for Derek, holding onto him and pulling him closer.

It’s the moment when the teeth do more than graze, when they bite sharply and Derek sucks at his skin. Jackson’s hips buck and he feels his balls tighten before he spills between them, clamping down hard around Derek until he cries out. Jackson feels the flood of warmth filling him when Derek stiffens and groans, then the light, soft kisses to soothe the bitten skin of his throat.

It feels good.

It feels tender.

It feels _wrong_.

Jackson pushes and Derek pulls out and rolls over onto his back, limp and loose-limbed. “I need to pee,” Jackson mutters before he escapes to the bathroom, closing the door on his confusion.

He takes the time to get into the shower, scrubbing away the first twelve hours of sex but it doesn’t matter, he can still smell Derek all over him, as if it is under his skin and oozing out his pores. And for all he knows, it probably is, since he’s carrying Derek’s child right now.

Jackson’s standing under the water, letting it sluice down over his head, when the door nudges open. Derek hesitates there, a silhouette seen through the haze of water and plastic until Jackson tugs the shower curtain back and says, “Get in.”

Derek wraps around him, nosing at the fresh marks on his throat where Jackson hasn’t healed yet. He feels that touch—the soft lick of Derek’s tongue—shivering under his skin and he leans back into him, aching for more. He is _weak_.

“I’m going to go out and get us something to eat,” Derek murmurs, teeth scraping over Jackson’s neck until he tilts his head back, baring his throat. Jackson shudders when Derek closes over his vein, holding gently. “What can you eat?”

“Anything,” Jackson says, even though it’s a lie. He reconsiders and adds one truth: “No donuts.”

“Bagels?” Derek nudges Jackson just far enough away to give distance between them so he can grab the washcloth and get himself soaped up and cleaned off.

Jackson rolls the thought around before nodding. “Bagel sandwich,” he decides, feeling a warm flush when Derek nods approval. “Eggs and bacon. No cheese.”

“Give me twenty minutes.” Derek rinses quickly before climbing out, and Jackson is left alone again.

He twists the water off just in time to hear the bedroom door close, and he stands there, listening while Derek talks to Stiles and Scott in the living room, then the front door opens and shuts.

Derek is gone.

Jackson dresses quickly, toweling his hair barely dry and yanking on any clothes that fit. His stomach is already changing, the washboard abs still hard, but rounder now, the definition in the muscles gone. It’s strange to look down and see the small gut developing, and he itches to exercise it away. It goes against everything that seems right in his mind, and he tries not to look in the mirror as he grabs loose sweats and a t-shirt and hoodie.

He doesn’t look at the guys when he walks through the living room.

“Hey, Derek said he’ll be back in just a minute,” Stiles calls after him, but Jackson just waves him off and heads outside.

He can’t say why he does what he does, but he knows he needs to get out. The bagel sandwich sounds good. It sounds really good, and so does the idea of going back into bed like he does every Saturday morning and staying there until he’s too hungry and needs to find lunch, or dinner. It sounds _good_ to sleep with Derek curled around him, body pressed in close.

Jackson yanks open the door to the Porsche—one of the few things that’s still _his_ —and he settles into the seat. It’s Saturday. He shouldn’t be going anywhere. He hasn’t gone anywhere on a Saturday for a month. But his hand twists the key and he pulls away from the curb with a roar.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he’ll figure it out along the way. Anywhere has to be better than here.

#

He stops long enough to make a phone call, then follows directions to the home of Lydia Martin and parks his Porsche in the circular driveway behind the deep purple Maserati. The front door opens before he manages to get out of the car, and he has an armful of Erica as soon as he straightens up. She leaps onto him and he grips her, holding her up as he nuzzles her throat, inhaling her familiar and comforting scent while she rubs her cheek against him.

“You’re showing more than me,” he says, because he can feel the swell of her belly between them.

She snorts. “Smooth, Jackson, starting off by telling me I’ve gotten fat.”

“We’re getting fat together,” he says wryly. “Is Boyd spoiling you?”

“They are both treating me brilliantly, but I have missed you.” She loosens her grip, sliding to stand when he lowers her carefully. One more hug, and she pulls him inside. “This place is amazing. It’s like living in a playground. Or an amusement park. No, seriously, there is a full-size swimming pool—I think of you every morning when I’m doing my laps—and there’s a carriage house out back that has a working carousel inside it. Not to mention the theater, with a proper popcorn maker and a dispenser of stuff that pretends to be butter to squirt all over it.”

Jackson’s eyebrows go up. “And I thought my house was big.”

“Your house is great. This place… is like a whole different echelon.” Erica pats his shoulders. “I see why your dad was working so hard to climb the social ladder. All these years I thought the Whittemores were on top, but they don’t compare to the Martins at all.”

Jackson bristles because that’s _his family_ that she’s talking about. Except, it isn’t his family anymore, not really, so he bites his tongue on the sharpest of retorts. “The Whittemores _are_ on top,” he says slowly. “Most alphas aren’t like the Martins. I can name maybe a dozen alpha families that are in the same bracket as your alpha.”

“Martins, Hales, Lockheeds…” Erica’s voice trails off, her head cocked, expression thoughtful.

“Argent. Coppola. Sheen. Ford.” It’s amazing how many of them are in Hollywood, but then, alphas like to be in charge and in sight of the public as well. “Trump. Hilton. Mayweather.” He can’t think of anymore, but he’s sure that they’ve listed the top ten. “It starts to drop rapidly after that, down to the normal high ranking alphas, like my father.”

“And Stilinski,” Erica points out.

Jackson’s brow furrows. “Stilinski’s father—”

“Is an alpha,” Erica confirms. “His family’s mostly in Chicago—they’re a big deal there. But he comes from money at one point or another. Going into law enforcement didn’t endear him with the grandparents, from what Stiles told me. Too pedestrian and menial.”

“They sound like my parents.” The words are out before Jackson thinks better of them, and he scowls because some things just don’t need to be said.

“I thought you still wanted to go into law?” Erica throws an arm around Jackson’s shoulder and nudges him to walk with her, going deeper into the mansion. “Boyd’s upstairs in the nursery, helping Lydia set some things up. Come on, I told them I’d bring you up when I got here.”

Upstairs means the third floor, reached by a staircase that goes up in a lazy curve around the edge of an open room, then a smaller set of stairs that leads into a hallway that seems set off from the rest of the house. “The nursery,” Erica says. “Martin children have been raised in this hall for years. When Lydia was small, she was the only one, but her mother was one of four children growing up here at the same time.”

“How many does Lydia plan to have?” It’s an idle question, more polite than anything else. Jackson doesn’t actually _care_ about this alpha or her family. He cares about _Erica_ , which is entirely different.

Erica stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to look at Jackson. She glances briefly at the door at the end, then points to the nearest door. “That’s the suite where Boyd and I live,” she says, voice low. “For as long as we want to stay.”

“Live in nannies?” Jackson quirks one eyebrow because that is _not_ a role he ever envisioned for Erica.

She smirks slightly. “Live in lovers. Kept omega and husband. Baby maker. Lydia asked if I’d do it again, and I said yes, as long as she bankrolls our shop. So it’s a deal. Oh, and she’ll tell you she wants a dozen, but I’m fairly certain the actual answer is three.”

Jackson shakes his head, and she laughs, looping her arm through his. “Don’t look so sad, Jax. It’s not the end of the world when an omega wants to have babies. It’s possible to actually like this gig, you know. Great sex, finding a place and not being broke. I get to live here.” She swings her other hand out to indicate the hallway; Jackson notes the small indications of money and taste that are everywhere, like afterthoughts. This isn’t a woman who has money and knows it. This is a woman who has so much money that it has ceased to matter.

Erica’s right; Lydia Martin is an entirely different class than the Whittemores. His father would die to be this kind of an alpha. His father thinks he _should_ be this kind of an alpha.

Jackson feels his jaw go tight, because he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what his father would say about the fact that apparently Jackson is _fucking_ this kind of an alpha. Not that he’s seen the Hale’s home, but they are definitely one of the top ten families in the country.

“Come on, meet Lydia. And Boyd wants to see you.”

“That’s a lie,” Jackson points out, the banter coming easily and making Erica laugh. Because it’s true. He and Boyd tolerate each other well enough, but he doubts Boyd’s been missing him like Erica has.

He can smell Lydia as soon as he turns the corner into the room, and her nostrils flare like she’s scented another omega in her midst. Jackson stands perfectly still in the doorway, Erica behind him, while Lydia approaches. She is petite, and he thinks she must have been wearing heels on the choosing day, because he doesn’t remember her being quite so short. But now she is barefoot and in old jeans, with a tear down her right leg and paint stains dotting the denim. There’s a stripe of sea foam green paint down her nose, but it doesn’t detract at all from the imperiousness of her arched eyebrow as she puts her hands on her hips and looks him over.

“You’re Jackson,” she says.

“He likes people to call him Jax.” Erica slides her arms around him from behind, her chin on his shoulder.

“No, he doesn’t,” Boyd says at the same time as Jackson makes a disgruntled noise.

“You let me call you Jax,” Erica points out.

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t been able to stop you from calling me that since we were tiny,” Jackson says dryly. “But no one else has known me as long as you, so no one else gets away with it.”

“I could.” Lydia’s tone is thoughtful. “If I wanted to, but no, I don’t. You’re not my omega, so I don’t care what you want to be called.”

There’s something in the way she says _my omega_ that makes Jackson’s brow furrow and he turns to look at Erica.

“I told you, she’s keeping us.” Erica nudges past him and Lydia both, bouncing over to where Boyd is sitting on a stool, a paintbrush in his hand. Compared to Lydia, she’s an amazon, and Boyd is as much of a brick wall as ever, staid and calm.

When Lydia joins them, her hand light on Erica’s arm, tracing down the line of it, pointing to the three swatches of paint on the wall, Jackson feels like an intruder. He takes a step back without thinking.

“Don’t go,” Lydia says mildly. “Erica’s been talking non-stop about you since you called, and has been lamenting the fact that she hasn’t seen you for months before that. If you go, I’ll have to listen to her complain again, and I don’t want that. So stay.” It is couched like a request, but Jackson knows an order when he hears it. She may not be _his_ alpha, but his skin still itches at her tone, and the need to obey pricks at him.

“What are you doing?” 

It’s a simple question, but it sets off a flood of information that Jackson doesn’t know how to handle. Lydia and Erica compare paint colors from an army of tins that litter the floor. Boyd patiently opens cans and puts strips of color on the walls, waiting while they stand back and look them over, discussing each possible permutation in depth. Jackson offers one opinion and finds himself dragged closer by Erica, and she leans on him while asking him how every single option makes him feel—whether it’s calming or makes him anxious, whether he’d find it comforting to sleep in it. In the end, they haven’t decided on a single color, but they have narrowed the field of choices down to two shades of blue, a single pale shade of green, a sunny bright yellow, something almost the color of cinnamon, and a purple that Erica claims is a shade too dark to be lavender.

Once that’s as complete as it’s going to get for the moment, Jackson finds himself sitting on the floor amidst a pile of wood and screws, handing them over when Boyd requests as they construct a crib. “The baby isn’t even going to be here for months,” he mutters. “Why are you doing all this now?”

“I think they’re having fun.” Boyd’s voice rumbles softly, and he glances at the door, even though neither Lydia nor Erica are even still on the same floor as them. “They enjoy shopping for the baby, and I don’t mind doing the work. I like seeing Erica this happy, and we’ve been picking things out for the shop at the same time.”

“So that’s definitely still a thing.” Even though Erica has said it is, Jackson’s seen what happens to omegas in powerful families. Breeding is important, which is why he wants to keep control over his own body.

Boyd grins easily. “It’s most definitely still a thing. Erica’s been using Lydia’s kitchen to develop her recipes, and we’ve been taste testing everything. What we can’t finish, we take to the shelters and to schools, because she’s baking more than three people can manage. You should take some home.”

Jackson shakes his head quickly. “No. Maybe.” He makes a face. “Not for me. I love Erica’s baking, and you know that, but I can’t eat it right now. Sweet makes me lose it. Stiles might like it though, or Scott.”

“Bring a box of cookies to your alpha. He’s a Hale, right?”

The question is innocent enough, but it reminds Jackson like a kick in the gut that he’s supposed to be back in the apartment with that alpha right now. He nods, hand sliding into his pocket to check on the phone and make sure the ringer is still turned off. “Yeah. Derek Hale,” he says. “One of three, apparently, not counting the distant cousins. His sister’s not bad. I don’t like his uncle.”

“No one likes Peter Hale.” The tone of Lydia’s voice is disapproving as she walks in and _damn_ she masks her scent well when she wants to. He should have known she was coming.

Jackson turns when he hears Erica’s footsteps coming quickly down the hall behind her.

“Stiles called,” Erica says, and Lydia’s eyebrows go up, expecting an explanation.

“Shit.”

“That’s a good word for it,” Lydia tells him. “You might want to come up with better—and more elaborate—words before Derek gets here, however. I’ll have Erica and Boyd bring your car home tomorrow. I can assure you, there will be no damage to your Porsche.” She tilts her head, taps her lip. “It’s quite a nice car. I’ve met your father, you know. He’s done business with my family.”

Jackson has a feeling that there’s more to that than the words she says. “He’s always enjoyed working with the best,” he says.

“Shall I give him your regards?”

“Not necessary.” Jackson presses his lips together, breathing in slow and deep. There is an anxiety rising under his skin, shivering through him at both the thought of his father and of his alpha’s imminent arrival. He’s not sure which he fears most. “We are estranged. As you no doubt already know.”

“Erica mentioned it, yes.” Lydia stands close before him, and even though she tilts her head to look up at him, Jackson takes a step back at the strength of her gaze. “Derek Hale is your alpha. You should remember that. There aren’t many families that I would say are stronger than Martin-bred alphas, and the Hales are one of them. There may only be a few, but they are strong.”

“Stronger than you?”

One corner of her lip lifts in a small smile. “Cora, yes. Derek, most definitely yes. Peter?” The half-smile grows into a broad, biting grin. “No. Most definitely not. As we have proven.”

Jackson wants to ask, and he can see that Erica wants to ask as well. The words are lying there, heavy in the room while still unsaid, but no one puts voice to them. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. As much as he wants to know, he doesn’t know this alpha well enough to provoke her to bite. “If you think there is something I should know about Peter Hale, I’d appreciate you telling me,” he says, putting it delicately back into her court.

“That would entirely depend on how involved you plan to be with the Hales,” she asks.

Jackson lifts one shoulder, lets it fall. “Not much. Once I’m done with this,” he gestures at his abdomen, “the child will be Derek’s, and I’ll go on my way. We don’t have anything like whatever you guys have here.”

“Of course you don’t.” Lydia pats his arm. “Go downstairs and wait outside. I don’t want to hear your argument.” Her fingers close around his wrist as he starts to move. “Give Erica your keys first.” She waits until he tugs them from his pocket and drops them into Erica’s hand before she releases him.

Erica hugs him hard, whispering orders for him to call her later, or Sunday night at the latest. And that she’ll make Stiles check in on him, because she doesn’t _trust_ the Hale temper, and if anything happens he should get in touch with her immediately. 

It makes him wonder what Derek said to them. Jackson knows that even if it was Stiles who called, it was Derek who spoke to them. It obviously wasn’t good.

Jackson makes his way back through the mansion and out the front door. He waits until he is sitting on the step before he pulls out his phone to find the five missed calls—four from Derek with no messages, and one from Stiles with a message that begs Jackson to call soon.

There are texts, but he deletes them without even looking at them. He composes one text to Stiles: _I’m okay. I’m with Erica, but you figured that out. I’ll be back soon unless Derek kills me and dumps the body on the way._

He’s only joking. He’s not actually afraid of Derek’s temper. He’s met the kind of alphas who might do that, who wouldn’t care that an omega is carrying their child. He’s had dinner with some of those, right there, having polite conversations with his father as they curried favor with each other. He’s watched alliances made and broken, and even though he knows that Derek Hale is more powerful than any of those alphas ever were… he’s not afraid.

He tucks his phone back in his pocket and sits there, staring out into the night, and waits.

#

“You’re one of the top ten alpha families. Why do you drive a Camaro?” The question slips out as Derek is pushing Jackson into the passenger seat, making sure he’s settled there before closing the door.

There hasn’t been any yelling yet, which makes Jackson uncomfortable. The yelling should have already happened. Derek is too in control, too _quiet_ , which can only mean that it is going to be _worse_.

Jackson looks out the window as he buckles the seatbelt. He refuses to watch as Derek settles into the car.

He isn’t prepared for the hand that grips the back of his neck, or the nose that is shoved right into the crook of his shoulder, a rough inhalation and exhalation shuddering over his exposed skin. “Don’t do that again,” Derek growls, and Jackson doesn’t have to see to know that his eyes flash red. He can feel the sense of _his alpha_ under his skin, and he nods once quickly.

“Sorry to interrupt your weekend of sex,” he mutters.

Teeth nip at him, a sharp reminder. “You disappeared,” Derek says. “You walked out, and you disappeared.”

“So?” Jackson turns to look at him. “I can’t understand why you’d even _care_. What are you getting out of this? A constant fuck fest every weekend? Is it status?”

“I’m getting a child.” The words come out slowly, each one dropped like lead.

Jackson snorts. “Do you even _care_ about the kid? Lydia’s in there planning a nursery. She’s got paint and furniture. You haven’t been there any time Deaton’s examined me. You haven’t asked me about it. All you care about is if I’m puking or if we’re fucking. Neither of those has anything to do with this _thing_ I’m carrying inside of me. You know, Cora said you’ll want this child, but I don’t believe her. Because you haven’t shown me a thing that says you do.”

“I signed the papers.” Derek’s tone goes dead and flat, and Jackson hears the warning in it. “I want that child, and you will _not_ run away with it again.”

Red eyes hold blue until Jackson drops his gaze, submitting. “I understand.”

The Camaro revs loudly, and Derek peels out in a cloud of dust.

“It’s my sister’s.”

Jackson looks over, confused. “What is?”

“The Camaro.” Derek’s jaw is tight, his eyes firmly set on the road ahead. “Not Cora. Laura.” He smiles thinly. “I’m aware that their names rhyme, yes. My father had a quirk and my mother indulged him. The twins were named Flora and Eric.”

There are so many questions that Jackson could ask, and he isn’t sure which ones are being invited. “Twins?”

“Dead in the fire. Laura survived with me and Cora. Peter was damaged.” Derek pauses, but Jackson doesn’t interrupt. “When we found out that Peter could be saved, Laura did so. But we lost her. I kept her car.”

“That has to be the least amount of information ever given in one story.” Jackson shakes his head. He can read between the lines, looking at the things Derek hasn’t said. Laura was probably the alpha of the Hales before she died, and she sacrificed herself for Peter, which left Derek in charge. And keeping the car is a sentimental thing.

Which doesn’t explain why when Laura was alpha she owned a muscle car that any jackass could buy rather than something that showed her status. “You need someone to teach you how to act like a Hale.”

“The only time someone needs to show off their money is when someone else doesn’t know they have it.” Derek rolls his eyes. “Your father shoves it in people’s faces. I don’t need to. I don’t care if they like me or not; I’m already a stronger alpha than they ever will be.”

“What happened between Lydia and Peter?” It might not be the right time for the question, but Jackson has a feeling it’s fairly close to an opening. “She said that Cora and you are stronger than her.”

“And Peter isn’t.” Derek huffs a slow sigh. “When Peter was damaged, he… he has had some ideas since that aren’t always in anyone’s best interest. He proposed an alliance to Lydia. She would leave the Martins, become a Hale, and bring strength to our pack. She refused—she already planned to breed on her own, and she can’t stand Peter. He tried to manipulate her into doing what he wanted.” Derek flexes his fingers, and Jackson sees the echo of his claws.

“He got into her mind.” Jackson licks his lips; he’s been there, and knows exactly what it feels like, and he _hates_ the idea of it. It makes his skin crawl.

“And she turned around and got into his. He crawled in apology before she was done.” Derek’s fingers are tight on the wheel. “That’s private information between our families. Don’t take it to the tabloids.” There’s an _or else_ lingering in the silence between them.

He pulls up in front of Jackson’s building and leaves the car running, waiting like he’s going to leave again.

“You can park,” Jackson points out, and he sees that armor slip around Derek again when he shakes his head.

“I don’t think so. You’ll be fine until next Saturday.”

“Friday.”

Derek gives him a bland look. “Saturday. You said once a week was enough, and it’s apparent that the last few weekends have been wearing on you. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would cause stress to you or the child.” He jerks his chin at the door. “Get out. Go eat something healthy. And I’ll see you on Saturday.” He hesitates until Jackson pulls the handle and the door opens. “Call if you need anything.”

Like phone sex, or to lie in bed and imagine that he can feel arms wrapped around him.

Jackson nods once. “Of course.”

He slams the door and the Camaro roars off, leaving him there on the sidewalk. Jackson is alone, which is exactly what he wanted when he walked out before breakfast.

Which is why it feels so miserable now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three months in and Jackson still sucks at communication, huh? Thank you all for being here and for your lovely comments! The next chapter will post on Sunday, March 2nd (wait, how did we get to March already??). Have an awesome week until then!


	5. Chapter 5

### Month 4

_~~~ help me tear down my reason ~~~_

“We’re going out.”

It’s Saturday morning and Jackson is barely awake, sleep still crusting his eyes, his morning wood aching and hard under the thin sheet that lies across his body. The door to his room is thrown wide and Derek stands in the opening, arms crossed and waiting.

“Fuck me,” Jackson mutters, and Derek raises one eyebrow. Jackson rolls his eyes. “It’s not an order, but it might be a request.” He rolls onto his back, his dick tenting the sheet. “Going _out_ isn’t the point of you coming here on Saturday.”

Derek’s nostrils flare, and Jackson can see the moment that he scents the musk, his eyes going slightly wide and flashing red. He steps in and closes the door at the same time as Jackson palms his cock, stroking it once.

“You don’t even need to fuck me,” Jackson murmurs, eyes fluttering closed. “Just stand there where I can smell you. It’s better when you’re here. It won’t even take long, I promise, I just need to get off, and _oh fuck_.” His body jerks as Derek’s hand snakes under the sheet and closes over his dick. It won’t take long at all, not with Derek’s fingers tight and strong along his length, twisting the way Jackson likes it, spit slick and warm against his skin. Jackson fucks up into his fist, hips stuttering when Derek pulls away.

He blinks, looking up at Derek through hooded eyes. “Do you want to fuck me?” It’s what they _do_ , after all. From Saturday morning until late in the night, then one more time in the early dawn hours before Derek leaves on Sunday. It’s _all_ they do. They put on movies or TV or sometimes sports, and they fuck until Jackson doesn’t need to fuck anymore.

He doesn’t know any more about his alpha than he did a month ago. Those few words in the Camaro were the last interesting things Derek has bothered to say.

Derek shakes his head. “Come here.”

Derek rearranges them both on the bed so that Derek is sitting back against the wall and Jackson leans back against him, cradled between Derek’s spread legs. Derek is still fully clothed, but Jackson is completely naked, his cock hard and dripping, his ass getting wet. The feel of Derek’s erection pressing against his ass makes him whine, but Derek doesn’t budge.

Instead, his hands roam over Jackson’s body, sliding across his chest, pinching at sensitive nipples, twisting until he cries out. Derek’s mouth whispers against his throat, “Get yourself off.”

Jackson tilts his hips so he can reach his own slick ass, fingers driving deep inside himself. One hand on his cock, one hand thrusting into his ass, he works himself over as quickly as he can. Derek’s hands ghost over his skin, teasing and pinching, twisting in just the right places. It’s the moment when his claws come out, digging into the space above Jackson’s hip bones, and teeth clamp onto his shoulder, that twists in Jackson’s gut and he comes with a shout, body jerking in Derek’s arms.

Derek soothes him, touch gentle as Jackson comes down from the orgasm, letting himself go limp while Derek holds him. When his breathing slows, he stretches, still tender and aching, and strangely sensitive when Derek touches his rounded belly.

“You’re getting big.”

“Don’t remind me.” Jackson twitches when he feels the baby move. It’s still new to him, and he knows Derek can’t tell, but it’s a strange sensation, like his stomach’s gurgling or doing somersaults on his own. He doesn’t like the reminder that there is a small _thing_ inside of him. “I’m fat.”

“You’re pregnant.” Derek pushes at him, nudging him out of bed. When Jackson is standing, Derek clears his throat. “You’re a good omega, Jackson.”

It’s not what he expected to hear; they don’t talk about their roles normally. He feels the words into his gut, warming him and making his skin shiver. When he looks back, he can see the ridge in Derek’s jeans and the wet spot that Jackson has left against them. He drops his gaze to look at his crotch, then looks Derek in the eye, offering silently.

“Go shower,” Derek says, voice firm enough that Jackson takes a step towards the bathroom. “I’m going to get changed. Once you’re dressed, we’re going out.”

Jackson leaves the door open just enough that he can hear when Derek strips out of the damp jeans. He waits a moment before he starts the water up, listening for the telltale sound of a hand on flesh, the low groan as Derek strokes himself. He inhales and drinks in the taste of musk in the air.

By the time he gets in the shower, he’s hard again, wet fluid dripping down his ass. He jerks off in the shower quickly, coming with a whimper when the orgasm shudders through him, washing the stickiness away after. He takes his time getting dressed while Derek cleans up in the bedroom.

They can both pretend it didn’t happen, but the truth is, Jackson wants to please him. He wants to go out there and fall to his knees and open Derek’s jeans slowly, rub his face all over his cock. He wants to swallow him down and let Derek fuck his face until his knees buckle, and he wants to ride him and paint jism all over his chest.

Jackson doesn’t want to leave this room, but when he emerges from the bathroom, Derek is waiting, stony-faced and standing by the door. “Ready?” Derek asks.

“Where are we going?”

Derek doesn’t answer the question, simply opens the door and points. It’s not as if Jackson really has a choice, so he goes.

#

Jackson gives the _Buy Buy Baby_ sign above the store a dubious look. “Why are we here?”

“Buying things for the baby.” Derek yanks open the passenger door to the Camaro and waits for Jackson to step out. As soon as he does, Derek’s hand is at the small of his back, fingers warm even through his clothes as Derek guides him towards the store.

“You don’t need me for that.” Jackson doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to hold up little outfits and imagine his child in them. It’s not _his_ child.

“You didn’t trust that I want this kid, so you can help me get ready for it.” Derek’s gentle nudge becomes a push, and Jackson glares as he stumbles through the door and into the store. “Cora gave me a list of things I need.”

“I’ve been talking to Erica. I think I have her list memorized.” Jackson has heard more about that nursery than he ever wanted to know. But at the same time, he’s heard about the planned new bake shop and went with Boyd and Erica to scout out potential locations.

“Did you get more cupcakes?”

It’s the first non-baby thing Derek’s said in a month. “I didn’t know you wanted more,” Jackson tells him. He’s standing still as Derek walks by him, trying to remember which cupcakes had been in the apartment that Derek might have eaten.

“The peanut butter ones,” he clarifies. “With the chocolate curl on top. And the fudge thing.”

“A ganache truffle in the center.” Jackson remembers it. Out of all the things Erica has handed him in the last month, that was the one he wished he could eat the most. “She made that one for me, and I can’t even try it until I’m done with your little monster making me puke.”

Derek stops, turning back to look at Jackson. “It’s not a little monster. It’s a baby.”

“ _Your_ baby,” Jackson reminds him. One eyebrow arches until Derek cocks his head, conceding the point. 

“We’ll start with the crib,” Derek says.

“Shouldn’t you know what color you’re painting the nursery first?”

“Already done. It’s blue.”

“What if the baby’s a girl?”

“What if it is?” Derek shrugs. “It doesn’t matter either way. I like blue. So it’s blue.”

“Crib it is.” Jackson stalks off towards the cribs, still not sure what to think about the situation. He tries not to be involved, but Derek talks to him, forcing him to make decisions. Maple or oak, dark or light, sleigh or traditional. They spend a half hour looking at every single crib and associated set of furniture until Jackson realizes that Derek keeps drifting back to one particular set of a rich mahogany, the stain deep and dark, the style simple. The crib converts to a headboard with a drawer below the bed for when the child is older, and there are also a bureau, changing table, and a small matching bassinet to keep in the parents’ bedroom.

When Jackson sees the way Derek’s fingers trace over the rails of the bassinet, he huffs a low sigh. “It’s obvious you want this one, so get it already.”

“I should have a nurse.” The words are soft and low as Derek curls his hand around the rail, holding on. “I won’t have the baby in my room. I have to get up in the morning, work…”

His expression twists tight with pain; Jackson reacts without thinking, his hand on Derek’s shoulder, giving him an anchor point. “Take time off.” Jackson tells him. His jaw goes tight when Derek doesn’t say anything, because it’s just _that simple_. A low growl starts to build in Jackson’s throat, and this time the words are an order. “ _Take time off._ ”

“It’s not that simple.” Derek’s answering snarl warns Jackson to back down.

“Having a baby isn’t about _things_ ,” Jackson snarls in return. “It’s not about what you can _give_ it and foisting it off on someone else to raise, and only caring if it’s an alpha you can raise to try to gain more power. It’s a _baby_ , Derek. It needs more than a decent crib and a _nurse_.”

“How would you know?” Derek’s growl rises, and Jackson can feel the anger rolling off of him. Instead of backing down, he takes two steps forward, into Derek’s personal space, until Derek grips the nape of his neck, claws tipping under the skin.

“How would you know?” Derek asks again, low and rough, accompanied by a flash of red in his eyes. “ _You_ were raised by a nurse. _You_ had everything you ever wanted. You were a spoiled little _brat_ with an asshole for a father.”

That’s _exactly_ how he knows, but Jackson refuses to lay that out in front of Derek, refuses to look weak. Instead he grits his teeth, breathing in and out until he can let some of the tension in his jaw go. “Go order the damned crib and pick out whatever else you want so we can get out of here and you can fuck me in the Camaro.” Jackson leans in, hissing when the claws bite into his neck. “I’m going to ride you in the front seat,” he whispers. “In the parking lot, before we leave. Because you haven’t fucked me yet, and you know I need it. You know I’m fucking desperate for it. And you… you’re so hungry for it that if you could knot me again, you would.”

He bares his teeth, turning away from Derek’s grip. Jackson walks into the part of the store where there are racks of clothes displayed, leaving Derek behind with the furniture. Jackson barely looks at the clothes, simply pulling things down that are newborn and appropriate for either a boy or girl. He fills a cart with clothes, blankets, bedroom sets, and when Derek asks what he’s chosen he simply shoves it at him to take a look. It’s not like Jackson will ever see it again after today; if Derek buys it or not… it doesn’t matter.

It obviously doesn’t matter enough to Derek to parent the kid himself.

“I’ll be at the car.” He walks out before Derek can respond. His body itches and all he wants to do is get somewhere else so they can fuck. It’s easier than everything else, and he needs it before he tries to scratch his skin off from need.

#

Cora shows up on Monday night.

“Your girlfriend’s here!” Stiles yells out.

“Does he really think I’d screw around with my brother’s omega?” Cora meets him in the hallway, turning to go back into the living room and drop onto the couch. Since the first time she came, she’s avoided the bedroom, as if she left her scent there once and has been warned away from doing it again.

“No, he’s just an asshole. You should get on great.” Jackson smirks and Cora laughs, lifting her arm so that Jackson can settle in next to her, absorbing the scent of pack. His hand falls to his belly, touching it when the baby moves. “I swear it can tell when it’s with family.”

Her hand covers his. “I can’t feel it.” She cocks her head, nuzzling Jackson’s forehead. “Has Derek felt it?”

“Haven’t told him I can even feel it yet.”

She pulls back, and he recognizes that expression. The pursed lips and the brow furrowed in irritation. “ _Jackson_. It’s his child.”

“And he wants it, and now he’s built it the most incredible Hale-perfect nursery,” Jackson mutters. “I’m aware. He wants to get a _nurse_ to take care of it. Do you really think he cares that I feel it fluttering around in my gut right now? I don’t think he wants to think of it that personally.”

“Do you?”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a snarl. “This is a _job_ , Cora. I fuck your brother for money. I’m carrying his brat _for money_. I need to get my ass out of debt and I need to make my place, and this is how I’m doing it.”

“Then why do you care if he gets a nurse?” Her expression is calm. “It won’t be your child anymore by that point. It will be _Derek’s_ child. He’s the one responsible for raising it. Caring for it. Loving it. If he thinks having a nurse means it’ll be better cared for, then he gets to make that decision.”

“Hey.”

Jackson looks over when Stiles speaks, his voice softer than usual. He stands loosely in the entrance to the hall, t-shirt large and hanging on his narrow frame, belly larger than Jackson’s is. He shrugs, and gestures at the front door. “I’m just… I didn’t want you to think I was listening in,” Stiles says. “So I’m going out.”

“Isn’t it—”

Stiles interrupts him before he can finish the sentence. “Yeah. After dinner. He’ll only be here for a few hours and I’ll be back before then, and probably before Scott gets back from wherever he is with Allison and Isaac. Let’s say I’ll be back in an hour. You and her can have your intensely personal conversation—hell, have a fight if you want—in privacy until then.”

Cora stands, and Stiles flinches back, taking a step into the hall.

“I said I’ll get out of your way,” he says quickly. “Jesus. Just let me grab my jacket and I’m gone.”

She doesn’t approach him, but she watches, body stiff as he backs up to his room and then as he returns to walk through the living room, shrugging into his hoodie along the way before he leave. He slams the door behind him. Her arms cross and her nostrils flare. “He’s hiding something.”

It’s a reprieve from their conversation, even if it means talking about Stilinski instead. “Like what?”

She glares at him. “If I knew that, he wouldn’t be hiding it very _well_ , would he? I can’t just walk up to some other alpha’s omega and try to sniff out the lie. Deucalion would rip him apart first, then me, and I’m not going to do that. So.” She beams brightly. “That means _you_ are going to find out for me. You live with him, so your scent is already all over him. Deucalion can’t be offended by it.”

“Since when am I yours to order around?” Jackson reaches out for her, yanking her back to the sofa, wrapping his arms around her. He needs pack, and he doesn’t see Derek often enough, not when they are barely managing to get together on Saturdays. He can’t tell him that he needs more. He said once a week was enough, and it is damned well going to be from now on.

“Since you actually care about Stiles.” Her head tilts and she inhales slowly, lets it out. “Worry is rolling off of you, and it does every time he comes in the room. Is he talking to Scott?”

“I haven’t asked Scott,” Jackson admits. “I thought about it, but I don’t think he is. When they’re together, they’re busy blowing stuff up in some video game, or watching movies. They don’t exactly talk about their feelings, unless it’s Scott babbling about Allison.”

“Right, his goddess of an alpha.”

“Exactly.”

“Which is going well?”

“Nosy.” Jackson nudges Cora and she laughs.

“I’m living vicariously through my brother’s life right now, can’t you tell?” She turns in his arms, snuggling close. “It’s like having family again. I grew up in this house where we had three generations and an extended family all together, and the people who didn’t live with us were next door, or in the next neighborhood. Distant cousins are good, but it’s not the same… it’s not like having mom and dad and two brothers and two sisters, plus Peter and his wife, and knowing that my other uncle is about to get married because he fell in love with his omega and they’re having twins soon. It’s not like having everyone underfoot the whole time. But that’s what it’s like here, and you… you’re family. Whether you want to be or not.”

“You’re maudlin tonight.” Jackson doesn’t like what she’s saying, because he’s _not_ family, but he nuzzles the top of her head anyway, gentle and soothing.

“And you’re stubborn.” Cora huffs a sigh. “What would you do if I told you to come home with me?”

Panic. Then refuse. Jackson hisses an indrawn breath, lets it out slowly. “I would never live in a house with Peter.” Besides, Derek doesn’t want him there. He doesn’t bother to say that to Cora; she already knows.

“He wasn’t like this before the fire.” Cora makes a face, shakes her head. “I mean, I would trust him then. He was always a manipulative bastard but now… he’s looking for something he doesn’t know if he’ll ever find. And he’s jealous of the people who _do_ have it. And at the same time, he’d do anything to build us back to what we’re meant to be. A stubborn, willful omega who has a fairly powerful father wasn’t on his list of possible prospects for Derek. He wanted someone he could mold and control, who would come home with Derek and become a part of our household.”

“Someone he could share, possibly,” Jackson mutters, and while Cora doesn’t confirm it, he has a feeling he’s right. “Derek would never allow that.”

“Peter doesn’t always think things through,” she allows. “He wouldn’t want to share, either, when it comes down to it. He just has to realize that our family may never be as large as it once was. We’ll always have power; we may not have numbers.”

“And the business?” It’s been weighing on Jackson for days now. “Derek sounds overworked.”

Cora snorts softly. “That’s because he _is_ overworked. He seems to think that being the prime alpha means he has to take it all on his shoulders. Laura didn’t do that. Mom didn’t even do that. But Derek… he feels responsible. He has no idea how to delegate. That’s why he needs his breaks.” She raises one eyebrow significantly.

It’s Jackson’s turn to laugh and roll his eyes. “Me? I’m not a break.”

“I already told you, orgasms are breaks.” She nudges him. “Call him more often. Go _out_. Do something just for fun that doesn’t have to do with sex or the baby.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It could be.”

Jackson is saved from having to answer by the sound of the door slamming downstairs and footsteps thundering up. The door flies open and Scott stands in it, staring down at someone who must still be at the base of the stairs. 

“I don’t care,” Scott says roughly. “Whatever you think, you’re not right. It’s only five more months. Just… let it go. It’ll be over and we’ll be done and you won’t have to think about it anymore.”

He takes one step into the room and shoves the door closed before he turns to see them both sitting there quietly. “Oh. Hey.”

Jackson raises one eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Isaac’s an ass,” Scott mutters. “It’s no big deal. He’s just jealous and he’s being possessive and I don’t want Allison being hurt so I told him to bring me home. I’m just going to go to bed.”

Cora elbows Jackson, but he doesn’t ask if Scott wants to talk about it. It’s obvious that Scott _doesn’t_ want to talk about it, and he can’t blame him. He’s glad he wasn’t picked by a married couple, although maybe if he was, it’d be easier. He’d know what the kid would be getting into anyway. When Cora elbows him again, Jackson glares at her.

“Play video games with us,” she orders Scott. Her nostrils flare, and she makes a face. “Go shower, _then_ play video games with us. Stiles will be back in a while, and it’s a Deucalion night.” It’s funny how she says it the same way Jackson does, like it’s this routine thing that’s done for a job, in and out and through. “We’ll all need something to distract ourselves.”

When Scott hesitates, Cora just raises an eyebrow, and after a moment he acquiesces.

“Hales _might_ be frightening,” Jackson muses. “The alphas of alphas.”

“We’re not perfect.”

“Far from it,” Jackson agrees dryly. “I know Derek, remember. And your uncle.”

Cora busies herself getting the game system set up, picking something where they can take turns beating each other up virtually. She tosses one of the controllers to Jackson and settles back on the couch, her shoulder budged up close to his. “I want you to promise me something,” she says quietly.

Jackson feels his jaw go tight. He doesn’t even know what it is, but he’s already wary just by the way she says it. “What?”

She looks at him, holds his gaze firmly and he is locked there. “When my brother decides he wants to relax, do it,” she tells him. “When he breaks routine and wants to do something different, _do it_.”

It isn’t a request, it’s an order, and her eyes flash red before he can blink away. He finds himself nodding, binding himself to an alpha’s promise before he can think better of it. “Asshole,” he mutters when he finally drops his gaze, and she just laughs in response.

“Always,” she says, and she starts the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, _Buy Buy Baby_ is a real store. I've bought things for my cousins there and everything. I just love the name. ANYWAY. Hi! It's Sunday, which means we have another update, and we've hit the halfway point of the story. So YES, that means things will really start rolling next week as we head towards the end of things. It's also means that my little, quick, 10k Halemore A/B/O fic is going to probably be around 40k long. Um. Oops?
> 
> The chapter for next Sunday (March 9th) is already prepped and read to roll. There is a _possibility_ the week after that might be skipped. I'm warning you now, so you have plenty of time to prepare, just in case! Things in RL (especially in my writing life) are kind of beyond hectic right now, and if I have to take a week break, I will, which is unfortunate but true. At this time, I'm pretty sure everything will be FINE, but I wanted to warn ahead just in case.
> 
> Thank you all for being here, for reading, for telling your friends (no really, go shout it from the rooftops and tell them all *grins*), and for commenting. Every view, every kudos, every comment... these things are gold to writers, and they lift my heart every time I get one. You are all AWESOMETASTIC for taking the time to say something about my little story.
> 
> Have an awesome week and I shall see y'all again next Sunday (still March 9th) with chapter 6! And if you want to find me in the meantime, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and stay a while. Drop me an Ask! I love to chat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been certain tags for off-screen sexual violence and off-screen abuse since the beginning. Be warned: some of that comes up in this chapter (not between Derek and Jackson, although their relationship remains as contentious as ever).

### Month 5

_~~~ you let me complicate you ~~~_

Jackson sits in the corner booth, staring down at the menu in his hands. His stomach has finally settled, so he could order anything he’s in the mood for, but food is the furthest thing from his mind. Even though Derek sits far enough away that they could fit another person between them, Jackson is aware of him.

He’s aware of every inch between them, and aware of how it would feel if they budged up close together. He is aware that they were giving this corner booth so that they _could_ be close, as alpha and pregnant omega, and that the wait staff keeps giving them odd looks for their distance. He is aware of every movement that Derek’s fingers make, paging through the menu, glancing over the wine list.

He is _aware_ of Derek in ways that seem like they should be impossible, but have become a part of seeing him.

Jackson wishes he had never made that promise to Cora, but it wasn’t a choice he could make. And now here he is, on a Tuesday night, sitting in the middle of arestaurant with Derek close but not close enough to touch and his skin itching until he might go insane from it.

Jackson’s fingers curl around the menu and he draws in a tight breath. He sets it down without choosing.

“Cora tells me you’re job hunting.”

And suddenly it feels like he’s meeting with his girlfriend’s father, acting vaguely interested in his life but really wanting to know whether he’s fucking their precious daughter. Jackson tries to go along with it. “Yeah, well, I was fired from my receptionist position, and it’s not like I spent that much on school to sit and answer phones all day.”

“Not all omegas go to college.”

Jackson’s head jerks up, gaze narrowing quickly. “Don’t tell me you’re one of _those_ alphas. The kind who thinks omegas should be home with the kids and if they’re not, then they can’t be in any position of responsibility. I’ve had enough of those growing up.”

“Didn’t say that.” Derek puts the menu on the table, shifts so that he’s facing Jackson somewhat. “My father was an omega.”

It sounds logical like that, because of course Derek’s mother mated with an omega to produce alphas like her children. But at the same time, Jackson recognizes what Derek is telling him: that the omega that bore him also _acted_ as his father. “Your parents were married,” he clarifies.

“Happily. And my father worked for my mother. She would have been lost without him.”

Jackson takes a moment to parse that before nodding slowly. When he looks up the waitress is there, and he has to decide what he actually wants to eat. He wavers between the lasagna and the prime rib, and when Derek orders the prime rib, he goes for the lasagna. The menus are cleared and somehow in the shuffle Derek and Jackson drift closer to each other. There are still inches between them, but Jackson can feel the heat of Derek’s thigh, the movement of the air when he leans forward to lean his elbows on the table.

“I went to school for business and pre-law,” Jackson tells him. He leans back, separating himself from Derek as much as he can manage without actually sliding further away on the bench. He sees the small smirk that says that Derek is aware of the motion, and Jackson’s gaze narrows. He doesn’t want to be predictable. Or _amusing_.

“Why aren’t you in law school?” Derek’s gaze drops to Jackson’s belly where it rounds against his henley. 

Jackson tries not to stare when Derek is already staring, but the baby reacts, moving slightly, putting a foot directly into his kidney. Jackson winces, rubbing slightly at the spot, trying to convince the baby to move to a new position.

He goes completely still when Derek’s palm lies flat against his belly. A moment later, when the baby moves, Derek seems to forget to breathe.

“Pregnant,” Jackson says, remembering the threads of their conversation. “For one, I’m pregnant, which isn’t conducive to studying. For two, I’m so far in debt already that the seventy-five thousand you’re paying me is a drop in the bucket. And third, I’m an omega. Law firms don’t want omegas handling their cases. We’re too flighty, emotional, and prone to unexpected pregnancies.” His tone drops dark, dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll find a new job soon. Most people don’t want to talk to me at the moment. What’s funny is that I never see this happening with pregnant betas.”

Derek’s hand is still there and the baby is still moving, rolling around slowly. From Derek’s expression he can feel it, and Jackson is once again _aware_ of their contact. His breath falters.

“So I’m looking,” he says slowly. “To find a job where I can do _something_. Not just answer phones. Something that matters.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek tugs at the edge of Jackson’s shirt, lifting it just enough for him to get his hand under. His palm goes flat and warm against Jackson’s belly, and Jackson whines slightly at the feel of it. It shouldn’t be arousing, but it _is_ , and the naked emotion in Derek’s expression makes Jackson _want_. “Why didn’t you tell me you could feel it move?”

“I didn’t know you’d be able to.” It’s not the best excuse, but it’s at least half true, and it doesn’t make Jackson’s heart skip the way the words _it would mean something when you felt it_ would, even though they are completely true. And it _does_. Watching Derek do this, seeing the reverence in his expression, it breaks something inside of Jackson.

He can’t believe Derek doesn’t want this child. Not anymore. And he supposes that he knew that, understood that, before now. But at this moment, all he can see is the way Derek touches him like his belly is precious and carrying something worth more than diamonds or gold.

It bites deep under his skin, scraping at his insides, and Jackson goes tense under Derek’s regard. He clamps his jaw shut tight, biting back the whine of _please touch me_ and the whimper of wanting _more_. Jackson closes his eyes, not wanting to see the way Derek’s eyes might flash. He can still feel every touch when Derek shoves the shirt up more, both palms now flat against Jackson’s belly, a low growl inciting the baby to move more, as if the two of them play a game and Jackson’s body is the playground.

Jackson _wants_. He wants to forget the child for the moment. He wants Derek’s full attention on _him_. He wants Derek to smell the way he needs him now, the way Jackson is wet for him already, uncomfortable against the bench.

He _hates_ that he wants so much, and he knows that he is nothing more than a carrier. Sex is about the baby. Everything is about the baby.

Tears prick Jackson’s eyes and he pulls roughly away, sliding awkwardly off the end of the bench and out of the booth. “Sorry,” he says curtly. “Bathroom.” He turns and makes his escape before Derek can see how it has affected him.

He barely manages to pull the door closed when it opens again and Derek is there, crowding into Jackson. He flips the lock from Vacant to Occupied before he pushes Jackson back against the sink, shoving his shirt up to bare his belly. Derek’s lips skate across skin, and Jackson whimpers. “Lower,” he whispers, feet standing wide.

Derek works Jacksons pants down, pushing them under his belly, pulling out his already hard dick. When his tongue flicks the tip of it, Jackson cries out; he needs this so much he could come almost from that alone. Fingers grip around the base of his cock, holding back the orgasm while Derek tongues the slit of his dick. He teases at him, not letting Jackson thrust, not letting him have more than Derek is willing to give.

“Do you want to be fucked here?” Derek asks, and Jackson nods. He wants. He wants so damned much and he doesn’t know how to explain it all, not now. Not anymore.

So he goes with where Derek nudges him, turning to face the mirror, his dick over the edge of the sink, his pants down around his ankles. He hears the zip when Derek opens his own pants, then Derek’s cock is between Jackson’s cheeks, sliding through the wetness. “Please,” Jackson begs, and Derek complies, filling him in one quick thrust.

“Watch.” Derek fits his hand under Jackson’s jaw, keeping his gaze up; there is no where else to look but the mirror. He sees Derek behind him, one hand around Jackson and holding his swollen belly, the other caressing his throat. Derek lowers his mouth, nips at Jackson’s skin, and he cries out.

“Please,” Jackson whines. “Just fuck me.”

And Derek does. He slides his grip down to Jackson’s hips, holding on as he thrusts hard, pushing Jackson against the sink. It’s low enough that his thighs lean against it, but his belly is safe. He braces both hands against the wall, staring, _watching_ as Derek’s expression changes, twists through pleasure and hunger, eyes flashing bright until Jackson’s flash as well.

When Derek finally— _finally_ —touches his cock, Jackson comes so hard he sees stars, spurting white all over the sink while Derek fills him.

Derek cleans him up while Jackson leans heavily on the sink, trying to find his balance again. “I didn’t want you to follow me,” Jackson finally mutters.

“You were leaving a trail of musk,” Derek says quietly. “You needed it.”

Not that Jackson needed Derek. He needed _sex_ , that’s all. He presses his lips together, fighting words because he doesn’t even know what he might say. He’s afraid of what could come out. His head hangs down as he breathes slowly and lets Derek pull his pants back up and smooth his shirt down. He can feel the wet spot in his pants where his ass is still leaking, and it’s an irritating sensation.

Derek slides behind him, arms wrapped around, hands atop his belly, and Jackson fights back the dampness in his eyes. “I need to go home,” Jackson tells him. “I don’t want to do this.”

Because he can’t be there. He can’t sit on that bench next to Derek, _feeling_ how close his alpha is and knowing that all Derek wants is the baby. That keeping Jackson satisfied is just a part of the path to the end.

Jackson wanted to know that the baby was going to be happy. Now he wishes he didn’t know how important it is. He wishes he could go back to where they were, fucking all day on Saturday and not interacting otherwise. This is Cora’s fault, for making him promise to try if Derek asked. He’ll tell her that, too, when he gets the chance.

Derek is quiet for a long moment. “Okay,” he finally says. “Let me settle the bill and we’ll go back to your place.”

He almost says no. He wants to say no, because he doesn’t want Derek there at his place. He doesn’t want to know if this is going to be another night of sex, or maybe an evening of Derek bonding with the baby and settling the wolf under Jackson’s skin because he feels like family. And Jackson needs that sense of pack to keep the baby stable. But he doesn’t want it, not tonight when his body still itches with unresolved tension and need, even after being fucked.

But Jackson knows that Derek will argue the point so he just nods and waits until he’s gone. Then he finishes cleaning himself up and slips out of the bathroom, heading for the back of the restaurant.

He’s gone before Derek finishes paying, and he calls a cab to pick him up two blocks away. All he wants is to go home and be alone for a little while.

#

Jackson walks in just as Deucalion is walking out. He skirts the edges of the stairs, giving the other alpha a wide birth; something in the pheromones rolling off of him makes Jackson’s skin crawl and makes him want to run. Instead he takes the stairs quickly, nudging open the door to find Stiles standing in the middle of the living room.

Stiles is naked, with long, deep scratches etched into his back from shoulder to ass. He stands with his back stiff and his head bowed, his legs slightly spread. There’s a flush to his skin, and he is freshly fucked. Barely finished, Jackson thinks, as if Deucalion simply tucked everything in and ducked out the door when he heard Jackson coming.

His mind is whirling, trying to take in what he sees, because something isn’t _right_. “In the middle of the living room?” he asks.

“I thought you’d be out longer.” Stiles’s voice is remote and he talks to the floor, not moving. His hand curls slightly, and Jackson sees blood on his fingers, blood on the floor. “It’s a Deucalion night.”

“I knew that. Sorry to interrupt.” They’re just words, because right now, Jackson _isn’t_ sorry. He’s glad he’s here because something’s wrong and this gives him an opening. He takes two steps forward, hand raised, and his fingers ghost over Stiles’s shoulder before the other boy twists away.

“Did he see you?” Stiles’s head tilts, expression blandly curious. “Was he upset?”

“He was something.” Jackson still doesn’t have words for it. “Stiles, you’re…”

“Hurt?” Stiles shrugs as if he doesn’t feel the red, raw wounds. “What was that you offered Derek? Did he want to flay your skin? You said you’d take it, screaming his name the entire time.”

Jackson has no memories of the words, but it sounds like something he’d say. He’s always liked it rough, and he and Derek suit perfectly in that way. But at the same time, Derek cares for the wounds he gives. He treats him well. “Is that why you scream?” He finds a place at the nape of Stiles’s that isn’t bruised. “I thought it was—”

“Good?” Stiles smiles thinly. “Sex is good. A job is good. But when it’s done, it’ll be done. I made sure that my dad wrote into the contract that any continued contact between Deucalion and myself was under my own control. I’ve seen what alphas can be like.”

“So have I.” Jackson nudges and Stiles moves with him, into the main bathroom that he and Scott share. Stiles sits on the edge of the tub while Jackson starts the water running. “Get in.”

Once Stiles is under the water, and a haze of hot steam is starting to fill the room, Jackson sinks back to lean against the edge of the sink, his arms crossed. “My father sold me,” he says quietly. He’s not sure if Stiles can hear him over the water, and maybe it’s better if he doesn’t. This isn’t something Jackson really wants to say, but at the same time, maybe it’ll help Stiles to hear it. “He tried to, anyway, but for one, you can’t actually sell a human being. We can enter into contracts on our own as omegas, but he couldn’t do it for me. I was seventeen.”

“Not old enough to breed.” Stiles speaks just as quietly, his voice almost merging with the sound of the flowing water. Jackson can see him moving, that he’s slowly washing up. The hot water will help with the aches while he heals as well.

“As an omega, not old enough to _consent_ to breed.” It’s an important distinction, one that Jackson is well aware of. “They toed the line, followed the letter of the law. There was no sexual contact, and it was assumed that I would sign the contract on my eighteenth birthday and my father would receive the payment for my services.”

“But you didn’t.”

Jackson laughs sharply. “No, I didn’t. He… the alpha was controlling, in a bad way. He wanted me under his thumb, in his bed, hidden away in his house as a broodmare. He wanted to use the fact that I knew everything about alphas—that I was raised to _be_ an alpha—so that he could share me with others and destroy them.” He grits his teeth because he will not share the rest of that story. Stiles already knows that Jackson has blue eyes; he doesn’t need the details.

“What happened?”

“The short version?” Jackson shrugs one shoulder. “He hurt me, and I hurt him badly in return. I refused to sign the contract, he took his money back and sued my father for breach of promise. The other alpha lost status and my father was seen as having absolutely no control over his own omega son. So he disowned me and I left for college.”

“Which is why you’re working off your debt.” The water twists off and Stiles reaches out blindly. Jackson grabs one of the towels hanging messily nearby and hands it around the curtain to him.

“Exactly. And it’s why I wanted to go into law, but that’s a useless point until we have enough omega lawyers to make a difference.” Jackson glances at Stiles when he steps out, taking stock of what remains of the hurts he was given. The claw marks are healing, although a bite on his shoulder remains thick and bruised, the sort of wound from an alpha that can take days to heal. “Have you told your father?”

Stiles laughs, short and sharp and dark. “No. My dad doesn’t have enough power to go up against Deucalion, and he has everything to lose. I don’t want to risk his job, and since he’s my advocate, everything will fall back on him first.”

“It’s written into the contract that nothing can be done without your consent.” Jackson may not always know how this works—he can see now how underprepared he was for the biology of a pregnancy with an alpha—but he knows the law.

“Deucalion has money and power.” Stiles towels off roughly, then wraps it around his waist. “He doesn’t do permanent damage. It’s just sex in the end. Rough sex. Maybe more rough than I’d like and more often than I’d like, but the sex is part of what I signed on for. If I try to bring up charges against him, he’ll say that it’s all hormones driving him, and as long as I’m fine after and the baby isn’t injured, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I can see that,” Stiles says dryly. “Look, you’ve got problems with Derek. Scott has trouble in paradise with Isaac and Allison. I’ve got to deal with Deucalion. We all knew what we were getting into when we walked into that room. It could be worse.”

Jackson knows it could, and he nods. “Erica made out okay.”

“I’m jealous of just how okay Erica is,” Stiles admits. “She got it all. She’s got Boyd, she’s got Lydia, she’s getting her shop and she’s got… family.”

“Pack.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles huffs a sigh and Jackson echoes him and they stand there in silence for a long moment.

“Erica stopped by with cupcakes,” Stiles finally says, scrubbing a hand through his hair until the short strands stand up straight. “They’re in a box on the table. You should have one.”

“I missed dinner.” Jackson is just realizing how hungry he is without eating, his stomach starting to rumble. He’s not sure cupcakes are the _best_ idea, but they’d be something. And he’s pretty sure he can finally manage sweets without puking.

“You want to talk about why?” Stiles spreads his hands, and it’s an offer but he’s not going to push it. Jackson just shakes his head because no, he really doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s not sure he could explain it if he tried.

“Are you going to be okay?” Jackson pushes away from the sink and follows Stiles out of the bathroom. He leans against the wall in the hallway, letting Stiles go into his room on his own. “You should change your visitation. Move it to once a week. At this stage in the pregnancy you can do that, right?”

“You really didn’t read up on anything before this, did you?” Stiles snorts when Jackson doesn’t bother to reply to that. “I’ve never needed it every other day,” Stiles continues. “That’s all Deucalion. And he’ll insist it’s for my own good that we continue, and the doctor he has examining me has said the same thing. I’d be fine with weekly now. It was harder at first, but now, honestly, I don’t care.”

Jackson frowns. “You what?”

Stiles comes out of his room wearing only his sweatpants, slung low under his stomach. “I don’t care,” he repeats. “When I see Deucalion, I don’t actually care at all. The baby goes quiet, I go cold. I don’t want him, and I definitely don’t need him. I could probably do the rest of this on my own.”

It’s not a situation Jackson can relate to, not after feeling the pull of Derek under his skin. He can’t imagine not _needing_ his alpha every time he sees him. He opens his mouth, words _right there_ on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t get the chance to say them when the door bangs open.

Jackson closes his mouth with a snap and looks at Stiles, who shrugs back at him. Neither of them heard the footsteps, and now Derek is standing in the middle of the living room, looking into the hallway at the two of them. Jackson can smell the carryout that Derek is holding and the lasagna smells _good_. His stomach rumbles loudly.

“You didn’t eat,” Derek says, his dark brows furrowed in confusion as he stares at the two of them.

Stiles claps Jackson on the shoulder. “I’m _fine_ ,” he assures him. “Go eat. Get fucked.” Stiles’s nose flares and he rolls his eyes. “Again.”

“Change your agreement,” Jackson tells Stiles. “And get your contract. I want to review it.”

“My dad already—”

“Your dad’s a sheriff, not a lawyer,” Jackson tells him. “Get me your contract.”

“You’re not a lawyer either, dude. Unless you’ve been sneaking in law school when we’re not looking.” Stiles raises his hand and shakes his head. “Fine, be that way. You can look at my copy of it. It’s not going to change anything.”

“Are you happy?” Jackson puts the question out there, and when Stiles can’t say yes, he just nods, because that’s what he figured. “Erica would have my head if she knew I knew something and wasn’t trying to fix it. So blame her.” And Cora. Since he promised her that he’d look in on Stiles, too, and damn it, he was just going to blame them for everything right about now.

“Fine.” Stiles waves his hands towards the kitchen. “Go eat. I’ll be in my room with the headphones on and very much not listening to the two of you.”

Jackson points at the kitchen and Derek goes, laying the takeout boxes on the table, then finding plates and silverware for the both of them. “We don’t need plates,” Jackson points out.

“Yes, we do.” Derek opens the first box and puts half the lasagna on Jackson’s plate and half on his own, then from the second box he splits the prime rib in two as well. He brings out two salads, and pushes Jackson’s food towards one chair. “Sit. Eat.”

“That’s why you ordered the prime rib?” Jackson takes the chair slowly, looking between the two plates. He’d been going to steal a bite, yes, but he hadn’t thought to ask to share dinner.

“You couldn’t decide.” Derek cuts a bite of the prime rib and puts it in his mouth, then gestures for Jackson to do the same. “It’s good. Eat.”

They are quiet through dinner, and Jackson manages to eat and enjoy both meals despite the baby’s alert and wakeful somersaults. When Derek opens the third box to show a selection of desserts—all small portions for sampling—Jackson swallows hard. “That’s…”

“Just say thank you,” Derek mutters. “And eat.”

Jackson pulls the other box that’s at one end of the table over and pushes it towards Derek. “Erica’s cupcakes. And you should meet her properly one of these days, not just when you’re hunting me down to yell at me.”

Derek pauses halfway through opening the box. “You want me to meet Erica?”

Jackson has a forkful of cake, so that takes his attention first, the dark chocolate exploding on his tongue with a hint of coffee and cinnamon hidden underneath it. “Yeah,” he mutters. “And don’t tell her that I just fell in love with this cake. She’ll say I’m cheating on her. But damn, this is good. I’ll have to tell her about it. She can make it better.”

There’s no answer, so Jackson swallows the cake and sets his fork down to look at Derek, who still sits there, the box half-opened, not moving. “What?”

“You want me to meet Erica?” Derek repeats slowly.

“Yes,” Jackson says. “As long as you don’t gang up on me with her. Lydia already seems to have stepped into that role, and it’s not like Boyd’s actually in my corner. We tolerate each other for Erica’s sake. He’s a good guy, and he’s good for her.” He likes Boyd now. There was a time, back in high school, when he didn’t, and the feeling was definitely mutual. It was hard getting used to the idea of an interloper that took her time away from Jackson, when they’d been practically fused together since they were children.

“I’ll call her tomorrow, see when she’ll be working on the shop. Then you can talk her out of some sweets as well and—” Jackson stops abruptly when Derek is standing behind him, one hand under his jaw, tilting his face up. He barely has time to blink before Derek’s mouth is over his, a soft light pressure that is gone before Jackson can figure out what to do.

He’s still trying to find his feet in this sudden shift in what they _do_ when Derek tugs him to his feet, pulling Jackson in and kissing him again, slow and deep, coaxing Jackson into responding. Derek teases his mouth open, waits until Jackson forgets how to stand, swaying into him with a low moan when hunger roars through him.

Lips on lips shouldn’t be this arousing. It isn’t like watching a mouth wrapped around a cock, it isn’t like being fucked. It’s soft and gentle, and hot and deep. It’s like saying everything with the touch of a tongue, and it leaves Jackson breathless.

“What was that for?” he murmurs when they finally break.

“Dessert will wait,” Derek tells him, and he steps backwards toward the door to Jackson’s room, tugging Jackson with him. Another kiss after two steps, then another as they go through the doorway. Once the door is closed, Derek pushes Jackson back against it, and kisses him thoroughly, tongue plunging deep, echoing the motion of his hips in slow strokes. “I want you first.”

“But you’re—” The words fall away with a moan when Derek kisses along Jackson’s jaw, finding the sensitive spot just behind his ear and sucking gently. The touch is too cautious, too careful. It isn’t how they are and it unnerves Jackson to feel it, especially now. “Fuck,” he whispers, and Derek laughs and promises that he will. He will.

Just not yet.

For now he kisses Jackson against the door until Jackson feels like his knees will give out. Until his dick is hard and aching, and his ass drips with need. Derek kisses Jackson until his skin feels like it’s on fire, burning because he needs to be touched, but every time he tries to undress, Derek stops him and carefully moves his hands away.

Derek makes him wait until _he_ does it, until Derek deftly undoes the top buttons of Jackson’s henley and lifts it over his head, tangling it around his hands and twisting it to keep them together, lifted high overhead. Derek holds his bound wrists there while he works to open Jackson’s fly with his other hand, pushing his pants and underwear down until Jackson can kick them off.

Then he slowly starts to jerk Jackson off while he kisses him again, hand moving in motion with his tongue, swallowing down every single one of Jackson’s whimpers and moans until Jackson whines Derek’s name into his bout and comes all over his hand.

“Bed,” Derek orders, and Jackson goes.

He tries to get on his hands and knees, but Derek shakes his head. “Just wait,” he tells him as he strips off his clothes, tossing them to one side. Derek crawls up onto the bed and leans back against the wall, his dick thick and hard, leaking fluid onto his stomach. He motions for Jackson to join him.

“Do you remember when I jerked you off?” Derek murmurs, pulling Jackson onto his lap, Jackson’s back to Derek’s front. Derek kisses Jackson’s throat, then helps him turn his head, claiming his mouth again hungrily. “You were just like this, and all I could think about was fucking you. But I had to take you out. Had to prove to you…” His voice trails off, and there’s a pause. “We were just like this.” Derek shifts his hips, and this time his cock slides through the slick crevasse of Jackson’s ass, so close to where Jackson wants it.

Jackson shifts, begging silently, and Derek helps him find the right position so that Derek can slide right inside of him. Leaning back forces Derek in deep, so deep that it almost feels as good as knotting, like Jackson is filled up and tied together with Derek, held as close as humanly possible.

“Don’t move,” Derek murmurs, as if Jackson were capable of independent thought.

Everything of Jackson is on fire. He cries out with the sensation of Derek’s fingers dragging down his arm, the gentle touch that wraps around his dick. His body jerks in response when Derek strokes him, going from root to tip and rolling roughly over the head, then back down to cup Jackson’s balls, rolling them in his hand.

And the whole while, Derek keeps him twisted there, kissing him. Mouth to mouth, hunger whining in every breath. When Jackson tries to fuck up into his hand, Derek holds him, kisses him again until he forgets what he’s doing, until he lets Derek play him like a treasured instrument, drawing each note out into a lingering whine and whimper. Until Jackson’s body tenses and he spills over Derek’s hand in long, drawn out spurts, each thrust echoed by another kiss nipping at his lips until Derek groans into his mouth and fills him.

He relaxes slowly, letting Derek take his weight completely. When Derek finally softens and slips out, they both slide down to lie on the bed, spooned together while Derek’s hand idly strokes over the swell of Jackson’s belly.

It feels comfortable.

It feels _good_.

And it is absolutely terrifying.

“Go to sleep,” Derek murmurs, lips brushing against the nape of Jackson’s neck. “I’ll go clean up the kitchen in a bit.”

“I should see you out.” Not that Jackson wants to move, but he sometimes remembers that he should be polite and not just lie here in a fucked out haze when Derek leaves. He is sated and warm, and he curls his hand around Derek’s arm, holding him in place.

“I’m not leaving.” Derek slides in closer. “I’m just going to put things away so they don’t go stale.”

“It’s Tuesday.” Jackson knows this is significant, that Derek is a Hale, and he is _the_ alpha, the one who insists on doing all the work even when Cora thinks he should slow down. But he never slows down.

“So maybe I’ll be late tomorrow.” Derek rolls Jackson onto his back, lies next to him stretched out and comfortable in tangled limbs without putting weight on the baby. The kisses now are lazy, like sips of a sweet after-dinner wine or tiny bites of chocolate. Soft and sweet, without any heat behind them. Derek catches Jackson’s lip in his teeth, sucks on it a moment before letting it go. “I’m the boss, so I can be late.”

There are things he should say to that, protests he should make, but Jackson is already drifting. Wrapped in the safety of Derek’s arms, he is loose-limbed and tired, and freshly fucked into a space somewhere close to sleep. “Fine,” he murmurs. “Fuck me in the morning before you go.”

He doesn’t get an answer, but he doesn’t need one. All he needs is what he has right now, and he slides into sleep with Derek wrapped around him, warm and real and _there_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! Some of the plot is starting to come in finally, and things will happen. I hope you've enjoyed, and thank you all for lovely comments and for being here and reading. Sorry to post so late this morning; my social life (hey, I have one occasionally!) and daylight savings time have conspired to really mess me up today.
> 
> I hope to post again on Sunday, March 16th but it may not be until March 23rd because I um... don't actually have the next chapter written yet. My book release has taken over my life, and I still have to write a ton of articles this weekend for blog posts and figure out how to publicity (which is way more complicated than you'd think). Don't worry, you won't have to wait MORE than two weeks, I promise! And I will try to get it up next week, I just can't be positive of it.
> 
> Take care all. Have a great week and enjoy the story!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There are further implications about Stiles's situation and references to things off-screen. Full notes available at the end if you would like to check the spoilers before reading to avoid triggers.

### Month 6

_~~~ help me I’ve got no soul to sell ~~~_

“Here.” Stiles drops the thick envelope on Jackson’s bed more than two weeks after Jackson found him stripped and broken. “I didn’t tell my dad why I wanted it, and I don’t want you talking to my dad about it. He can’t get involved.”

“He won’t.” Jackson picks up the envelope and slits it open, lips pressed thin as he sees the thick packet of papers inside. “Someone was thorough.”

“Deucalion,” Stiles admits. “Dad went through it with a fine tooth comb before I signed it, and he said he had a lawyer he knows go over it, too. You’re not going to find loopholes, Jackson.”

“How has it been?” Jackson pulls the papers out and starts to flip through them. He hasn’t been to law school, but he took everything he could manage that would get him ready for it. The language is familiar, like reading Spanish when he’s only taken the first year of the language so far. He can do it; it’ll just take time. “Is he still hurting you?”

One should rises and falls in a shallow shrug. “Not much has changed. He won’t risk the baby.” Stiles’s hand falls to his belly. He looks larger than Jackson, which might just be that they’re carrying differently.

“When did you last see—”

“Deucalion doesn’t believe in constant monitoring,” Stiles interrupts. “I haven’t seen anyone since the beginning, and I’m _fine_.”

Jackson translates that as Deucalion doesn’t want a healer to potentially see evidence that he’s left behind. The idea rings sour to Jackson, and dangerous. “I’ll call Deaton. He should look at you.”

“It’s not….”

Jackson knows how to deal with this, even if he doesn’t think he _should_ push Stiles, he has all the right words and the right voice, and he knows Stiles _needs_ someone here on his side. “I’ll call Deaton,” he says, his voice firm and channeling the inner alpha that he doesn’t have. It works, though, and Stiles’s eyes cast downward. Jackson immediately feels guilty; Stiles doesn’t need anyone else pushing him around right now. “It’s a safety thing,” Jackson says, his tone lighter now. “Cora made me promise to find out what was wrong, and to look after you. Do you think I can argue with her?”

“I’d probably be more afraid of Erica,” Stiles says, a smirk sneaking through.

“I’m afraid of both of them.” And it’s not entirely a lie. Cora’s an alpha—stronger than most Jackson knows. And Erica’s the same force of nature that she’s always been. “So you’ll see Deaton?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and manages to translate it into a whole body move, twisting towards the door at the same time. “Fine. Yes. I’ll see Deaton. But there’s nothing wrong with me, Jackson. Deucalion wants this kid.”

Jackson’s been thinking about it, and he’s not so sure about that. Oh, there are advantages to having a kid, but he gets the feeling that Deucalion is more about the sex and the dominance than he is about the actual pregnancy. But by the laws laid out, he can’t have the omega without the child. He presses his lips together and nods. “I’ll let you know when you should go see him.”

Stiles starts to head out, then stops in the doorway. “Scott and I are going to kick each other’s asses on the Xbox. Want to fight winner?”

This is what they’ve become—an unlikely threesome sharing a house and Jackson almost feels like they’re friends now. It’s not what he would have expected, but he likes it. It’s almost like having a home again. Maybe better than the one he started out with. “Give me some time to start puzzling through this, then sure.” One eyebrow lifts. “But just remember you invited me when I kick your ass and then some.”

Stiles laughs. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.” He leaves then, and moments later Jackson can hear the sounds of the game starting up.

Jackson settles onto his bed, his rounded belly fitting into the space left by his crossed legs as he spreads the papers out. There are several pieces to the contract—addenda, references, paperwork regarding the specifics of the pregnancy and the disposition of the child at the end.

He begins with the details about Deucalion. Unmarried. Currently unmated and has never had a mate, although he has a ragtag pack of alphas who all live with him in a rambling manor that Jackson is fairly certain Stiles has never seen. Jackson makes notes of their names, then pulls up his laptop. Deucalion may be publicly clean, but he’s willing to bet that these others get into their share of scuffles, if they are anything like their alpha.

At the end of an hour, he feels sick. He has to admit at least that each of Deucalion’s pack has their redeeming qualities. Ennis is a surgeon, and Kali teaches. The twins are no older than Jackson and Stiles and are coaching football at the high school. But they all have their darker sides according to rumors, and reading the reports leaves Jackson with his stomach roiling. Nothing has been confirmed, and nothing is set in stone, but the information available paints a vivid picture of fights where the opponents end up dead, and people who have disappeared. Kali’s last known four lovers have all turned up dead shortly after breaking it off with her. There are rumors of the twins’ inappropriate involvement with students. Out of them all, Ennis has no specific rumors attached to him, but has been investigated for wrongdoing during surgeries that resulted in death. Jackson has a feeling that as clean as Ennis looks, it’s just because he’s better at hiding it. No one _good_ would fit in well with the other alphas in that pack.

He sets aside the laptop and closes it carefully; if Deucalion decides to takes Stiles home after this is done it won’t be an easy life, or a good one. And it’s no place for a child. It reminds Jackson all too starkly of the life he avoided, and he can’t let Stiles step into it.

The contract is thick and convoluted. Jackson hasn’t taken a law course yet officially, but he has spent a good amount of time during his undergraduate years preparing for law school. It’s what he has always wanted, even if he thought he would go into corporate law, not any kind of criminal or defense law. The language is difficult, but not impossible, and he reads with a notebook next to him, carefully transcribing information in small, cramped letters. He starts a new page for each topic: Stiles’s rights, the child’s rights, payment, prohibitions, expectations. He pores over the section labeled pre-natal care three times, ensuring that even though it states that Stiles will be cared for according to Deucalion’s preferences, there is nothing that forbids him from seeing another caregiver. He highlights the appropriate paragraphs, intending to bring them to Deaton.

He feels Derek’s presence before he sees him, glancing up to find his alpha standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed. Both eyebrows rise. “What are you doing?”

Jackson gathers up the papers, making certain to keep them in order as he slots them into the envelope again. “Studying,” he replies. “I’m still considering law school.”

“Good.” Derek nudges the door closed. “Make a list of schools and programs and give them to Cora. Tomorrow.”

“Why Cora?” Jackson manages to get the envelope onto his nightstand and out of the way before Derek pushes him back. Derek is already working his pants down, tugging them away and leaving Jackson half-naked before he starts to work on the fly of his own jeans. Musk is rising quickly, and Jackson struggles to maintain his composure and his control over language. “Why?”

Derek tugs Jackson closer, kneeling between his legs, fitting them hip to hip. Jackson tilts his hips, whining softly, his body making itself ready so that when Derek thrusts into him, filling him, it’s a slow, easy move. It’s not frantic, but it’s strangely comfortable, Derek’s hands sliding over his belly while he fucks into him with each roll of his hips.

“Why?” Jackson repeats, because this is _important_ and he doesn’t want it to get lost in the haze of rut between omega and alpha.

Derek reaches forward, cupping Jackson’s face, thumb brushing against his lips. “Because she’s my advocate. Because I trust her. Because she’ll look into each school and determine which ones will be safe for an omega to attend and which ones will be able to accommodate your needs. And she’ll set up your scholarship based on the monetary needs. All you have to do is apply and make sure you get in.”

He hears the confidence in Derek’s voice, as if there’s no way any of these law schools would turn Jackson away. It makes the heat coil inside of him as much as a kiss does, and the words carry weight. “You didn’t sign anything saying you’d send me to school. I still have debts—”

“Shut up,” Derek tells him, claiming his mouth before Jackson can manage another word. The position is awkward, with Jackson’s belly in the way, but he doesn’t care anymore. The taste of Derek makes him groan, and he pulls his legs back, opening himself wide and whining slightly, begging Derek to fuck him.

“Please…”

“Are you done asking questions?” The words are a hot wash of breath along Jackson’s neck, sliding over his throat and making him arch up into Derek, wanting more.

He has no words for an answer, only the shift of his hips, the anxious rise, pressing into Derek’s thrust. His dick is trapped between Derek and his own belly, and he doesn’t need anyone to touch it, the friction bringing him close with only a few more thrusts. “Derek…” he whines, and watches the way his eyes close, the way fingers dig into his hips and hold on tight when Derek shudders, emptying himself.

Jackson is almost surprised by the squeeze in his balls, the rough roll of his own orgasm, leaving them both sticky and spent. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back. “Fuck. What are you doing here tonight, anyway?”

“That,” Derek says. He pulls out and stretches next to Jackson, wrapping him close. “At least once more tonight, and again before I leave in the morning. Any objections?”

Jackson has research to do, both about potential schools and for Stiles’s situation, but at the moment he can’t think about that. This is the part of being an omega that he hates, that he has no choice in what his body wants, in what _he_ wants. He is torn between wanting to roll out of bed and grab his laptop and start on that list right now, and wanting to stay where he is, wrapped in Derek’s arms, waiting until the moment when Derek starts to rut against him again before fucking him hard.

“No,” he murmurs. “No objections.” The research will still be there in the morning, after Derek is gone.

#

“And you want me to examine Mr. Stilinski why?” Deaton sits on the edge of the examination table while Jackson pulls his pants back up. “I thought this appointment was out of concern for your child’s health.”

“You said I could come in any time I want,” Jackson reminds him. “As that I could have as many ultrasounds as I need to make me comfortable with the process.”

“I did,” Deaton agrees. “And while I am pleased to see you finally taking an interest in the process of your pregnancy, Jackson, I must admit to confusion as to how Stiles Stilinski plays a role in this.”

His bland expression is infuriating. If Jackson hadn’t known him since childhood—if he didn’t _trust_ Deaton’s discretion—he would never have asked him to be his own advocate. And this is a dangerous game now, asking one healer to look in on another alpha’s omega. “I’m worried about him,” he says, keeping his tone carefully level. “Apparently Deucalion doesn’t believe in pre-natal care, and Stiles is big. Not fat. In fact, he’s still scrawny, except for the baby. But his belly is bigger than mine.”

“Does he seem healthy?” Deaton folds his hands together.

“Physically.” It’s a careful step toward breaking confidence. Jackson knows that he can’t finish this conversation without telling Deaton what he already knows. But he doesn’t have to say it all at once, not until he knows if it’s safe. “I don’t think Deucalion treats him well.”

“You do realize that Deucalion employs a healer,” Deaton says quietly, and it isn’t a question.

“So? If he’s not giving Stiles the care that—”

“I can’t interfere, Jackson, not in another alpha’s business.” The words are firm and blunt. “If it were Derek’s omega, or another Hale omega, or if it were something associated with your father’s business, then it might—”

“My father.” It almost hurts when the thought strikes Jackson; he winces away from it, not wanting to go there, but he can’t help it. The one man he _does_ know who could help. The one who _owes_ him something. The one who disowned him and threw him out for not being the alpha he was supposed to be, or being an omega he could use. His mouth twists up, sour. “If my father asked you to examine him, you would.”

“If your father asked me to examine anyone, yes, I would.” Deaton considers him closely. “Jackson, what are you considering?”

“Nothing you want to know about.” Jackson yanks his shirt down, smoothing over the bulge of his belly. “Have you been reporting back to him? How much does he know about my current situation?” When Deaton is silent, Jackson smiles thinly. “That might help, actually. I should have known better than to believe you when you said you wouldn’t tell my father.”

“I am still your adjudicator, and I still have your best interests at heart,” Deaton says mildly. “You’ll note that he has had no impact on this decision that you have made. If you decide to reconnect with your family now, I can’t say what might change.”

“Are you counseling me to stay away?” Jackson tilts his head, trying to read Deaton. It’s never been easy—almost impossible, actually—to tell what Deaton is thinking or planning at any moment. This could be a ploy to convince Jackson to crawl back to Mr. Whittemore with his tail between his legs, or it could be an attempt to push him away for his own safety. The problem is, Deaton will never say outright what he wants. He simply remains caught between the two Whittemores and he plays his own game. Jackson shakes his head in frustration. “Whatever you want doesn’t matter here. He has no hold over me anymore, and he made it clear that he doesn’t want one if I’m not the obedient child he thought he had. What the hell would he have done if I’d actually been an alpha?”

“Used you like a weapon in the courtroom,” Deaton says quietly. “The question is whether he will recognize that the weapon was still made, even if he chose to discard it after it was forged. Do not walk back into that house, Jackson.”

“I thought you wanted me to be family again.” Jackson can’t resist pushing at him, trying to get past the calm exterior.

“I am your adjudicator and as that, Jackson, I want you safe, and I want your child safe. I am quite certain that Derek Hale would have my head if anything were to happen to that child.”

Jackson feels the words like a blow. _If anything were to happen to the child_. Not to himself. Because Derek doesn’t care about Jackson, it’s all about the child he carries. And he knows exactly how much Derek wants this child now. But he was starting to think… He looks at Deaton and his head tilts slightly, a smirk twisting his lips. “I’m my own person, Deaton. That’s what my father wanted me to be, and funny, that’s exactly what he got. And he has something I want right now, and I’m going to go get it.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then examine Stiles. And tell me everything you can find out about Deucalion.”

Silence stretches between them, and in the end, it is Deaton who drops his gaze. “I can’t do that, Jackson.”

“Then it looks like I’m going to see my father.” The words are brave on the outside, his voice firm and strong. He won’t betray to Deaton that he’s quaking on the inside because he remembers their last argument. He remembers stumbling out of the house under the force of an alpha’s orders. He remembers everything.

And right now it doesn’t matter. He’s still going back.

#

It takes another week before Jackson can make himself drive up to that house. Another week, and another evening of passing Deucalion in the stairwell, smelling the anger and fury that comes off of him in waves, along with the sense of being utterly replete and pleased with himself. Deucalion snarls at Jackson on the way by, and there’s a low rise of musk when Jackson pulls back, staying out of the way.

If his father is the only way out of this situation, Jackson has to take it.

No. Not his _father_. The man who raised him, then threw him out. That’s all he ever was. He never actually managed to be a _father_.

He pulls up in the curved driveway, then sits in the Porsche, gathering his breath and his courage before he gets out. It has been four years and he isn’t the same boy he was then. He found his own way and his own place, and he will damned well keep going on his own. He doesn’t need the Whittemore legacy.

He just needs one small favor.

Jackson grabs the leather folio with a copy of the documents inside—he left his own copy and notes at home, unwilling to risk losing them completely and having to start over. He checks his hair in the mirror, watches as his own eyes flash a bright blue, reflected in the glass before he blinks them away. The wolf is close to the edge in this place, remembering his last time home.

The door is open before he gets there, and his mother meets him on the drive, her arms wrapped around him, pulling him in. “You should have called,” she chides gently, as if he’s been gone for a month and is just home for a visit.

He lets himself hug her for a long moment. She stinks of home and the Whittemore scent, and he sees her nose wrinkle when she pulls back. He smiles tightly. “Hale. And my housemates.”

Her expression closes off. “Of course.” The words are soft and brittle. “Alan has kept us apprised of your situation.”

“It’s not a situation, it’s a job.” It’s more than a job, but Jackson isn’t going to tell them that. He can barely touch those thoughts himself, not wanting to look at it too closely. He only has a few more months before it’s done, just enough time to get himself settled with a good school and looking forward.

He doesn’t want to look back and see what he’s missing after he gives his child away.

Her gaze drops to his belly, and she reaches for him without asking, laying her palm flat against where his shirt stretches over his stomach. “You’re carrying my grandchild,” she murmurs.

“No, I’m carrying my _parents’_ grandchild, but considering they’re dead, and I have no idea who their family was, I doubt anyone cares,” Jackson says drily. “But if you insist on thinking of it as yours, you can be content that this child will have a better life than you could have hoped, since it’s going to be a Hale.”

“And you?”

He can almost fool himself into thinking she looks concerned. “Law school. Are you going to invite me in, or do I need to ask him to come out and meet me in the drive?” 

“Of course.” The polite mask is in place, as if he is a guest of some level of importance. She motions for him to follow, and Jackson walks into the place he used to call home.

It seems ostentatious now. He has kept up with wanting the finer things, ever since he left home, but he has to ration them. He has to be careful with his money, having lived on loans and his own hourly wages. He can see how his father uses money to create a barrier between himself and everyone else. He doesn’t _appreciate_ things, he uses them.

Jackson used to do the exact same thing. He’s not sure if he changed while at school, or if he should blame Derek’s quiet power for the shift in how he thinks. Either way, the obvious show of money doesn’t impress him any more.

“He’s in his office.”

His mother gives him one more kiss on the cheek, lingering for a moment over the swell of his belly before she retreats. There is a soft scent of sorrow in the air, and Jackson steels himself against it. No matter what Deaton terms it, he’s not here to become a part of the Whittemore family again. He’s here to regain something he thinks he’s owed, and to turn that around for Stiles.

Jackson pushes open the door to the study, keeps his back straight as he walks in, limbs loose but carriage stiff. He pastes on the polite veneer of a smile and doesn’t offer a hand. “You owe me something,” he says.

“Do I?” Whittemore’s expression is cold and calculating. “You cost me status and a valuable alliance. What could I possibly owe you after that?”

“You cost me my innocence.” Jackson’s expression hardens as his eyes flash. “I was a _child_ , and I have never gone public with what happened. I could, _father_. I could tell everyone what you expected of your omega son, and what his potential mate had him do.”

“They wouldn’t believe you.” Whittemore leans back, hands clasped and fingers intertwined. Jackson recognizes the smirk—he spent years learning to copy it, to perfect what he thought was the perfect alpha rise of the eyebrow and twist of the lips. “You were an easily impressionable omega, faced with a powerful alpha. Of course you would do anything he asked of you. Much like you will now.”

“I will?” Both eyebrows go up.

“For Hale.” The words linger in the air, twisting around something cold in Jackson’s gut. His father has prepared for this, is aware of it and has made a game of it somehow. And Jackson can’t make a move when he doesn’t know the rules.

“Explain.” He won’t beg, he will demand.

His _father_ only laughs. “Is that the contract?”

“Mine? No.”

“Stilinski’s.” Whittemore’s smile grows broad at Jackson’s surprise. “I’ve already seen it. The Sheriff needed trusted legal advice, so he came to me to ensure that his son would be safe. There are no loopholes.”

Jackson would beg to differ, but he won’t let that out. That will remain the ace up his sleeve. “I didn’t bring it for you to look at. I brought it to prove that there is nothing in this contract that states that Stiles cannot see another healer of his choice. I want him to see Deaton, and you will approve it.”

“I will?” Whittemore rises, moving around to the front of the desk and leaning against it. “I don’t think so, Jackson. Not unless you are willing to make a concession for me.”

Jackson sees the move then, sees it with crystal clarity laid out before him. He can either walk away and leave Stiles stuck with Deucalion, or he can sacrifice himself by going back to the Whittemores and becoming a bargaining chip for his _father_ to move higher in status.

He doesn’t like either option, so he changes games.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m not coming back here. You’ve already disowned me once; you can’t do that again. Stiles is already stuck, so that won’t change. In fact, I’m guessing that you’ve got Deucalion in your pocket, or more appropriately, he’s got you stuck in his so that he has a way to keep his nose clean. It’s amazing just how much seems to get swept under the rug for that pack. I’m sure they’re a legal nightmare and they need someone like you on their side. And you know what? I don’t care.”

Jackson takes two steps backwards, framing himself in the door. He plants his feet, crosses his arms. “You won’t touch me. In fact, you _can’t_ touch me. Not unless you want to deal with the Hales coming down on your ass. And you know what else? You can’t touch Stiles, and I’ll make sure of it. What would you do if Deaton changed his allegiance?” 

It’s a bold statement, since he hasn’t actually spoken to Deaton. But the new game seems so obvious now, and he wonders if this is the game Deaton was playing all along, and he was just waiting for Jackson to find the board.

“He won’t,” Whittemore snarls. “His family has been allied with the Whittemore family since my grandfather’s time. His sister is with Deucalion.”

Interesting. Jackson hadn’t found that yet in his research, and he tucks it away as something to use later if he needs it. “He will if he gets a better offer,” Jackson says quietly. “And I think he’ll be getting that better offer.”

The snarl grows quickly into a growl, deep and threatening as Whittemore advances. Jackson stands his ground, refusing to back down under the rise of an alpha. His eyes flash in return and he holds himself there, saying quietly, “You taught me to be an alpha. You can’t be surprised that I actually learned.”

“You’re an _omega_.”

“Only by biology.” Jackson grins sharply. “By attitude I am the alpha who is going to kick your ass in court.”

It takes every ounce of stubbornness that he has to stand there in the face of an alpha’s anger. If Whittemore were his father by blood, Jackson knows he would be cowed. If it were only a few years ago, maybe even a few months ago, he would already be in the car already and halfway down the drive. Instead he can make himself retreat slowly, keeping his gaze on Whittemore the entire time.

His mother is waiting in the foyer for him and she pulls him into a quick hug, kissing his cheek again. “Call,” she says.

“Probably not.” It almost feels good to see the way her expression falls, but he can’t forgive her, not yet. Maybe someday, if he can prove that she didn’t know what his father was doing. If she reaches out and wants to connect as adults, rather than one part of a parental pair that happens to own a borrowed omega. But there’s one thing that she still might be able to do.

He looks at her, waits a moment until her gaze drops. “You can get me my records,” he tells her. “Deaton won’t give them to me. They’re sealed from me. But I want them. I want to know who I am.”

Her head snaps back up. “You’re my _son_.”

“You raised me,” Jackson counters. “Someone else bore me, and I know my blood is good, and yet I _still_ came out an omega. Get me those records.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” Jackson lets her pull him in again, lets her hold on one more time before he takes himself away. He makes it all the way to the car before he starts shaking, before the overwhelming scent rolls over him, reminding him that his father is an alpha and he refused to follow. His hand snakes out before he thinks about, patting the seat, fingers questing until they curl around an abandoned jacket.

He pulls it in close, cradling it in his hands, burying his nose in it. He smells Derek on it, and it quiets his senses, sinks into his bones and gives him the strength to relax.

Jackson revs the engine when he leaves, spinning the wheels and blowing up a cloud of smoke as he burns rubber and peels out.

#

He calls Derek and his alpha is leaning against the Camaro, waiting for Jackson when he pulls the Porsche into its parking space in front of the apartment. Derek pushes away from the car, meeting Jackson before he opens the door, pulling him out and inhaling deeply before his expression twists into a deep frown. “What have you been doing?”

“I went home.” Jackson twists when Derek tries to grip his collar, pushes his face against Jackson’s neck. “Save it for later, Derek. I need to talk to you about something, and we can’t do it up there. So you take me somewhere and I’ll tell you everything.”

Derek’s expression is wary. “What about? Are you trying to break your contract?”

That wasn’t the reaction Jackson expected. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“You don’t think I—” Derek stops abruptly, closed off as he takes a step back. “Get in the car.” When Jackson takes a step back towards the Porsche, Derek grips the nape of his neck, turning him towards the Camaro. “Get in _my_ car.”

Everything is silence while Jackson buckles in and Derek pulls out of the space, going somewhere. Anywhere. Jackson doesn’t know the destination and he doesn’t care right now.

“You don’t think I want the baby,” Derek says, his voice low. He keeps his eyes on the road, intent on driving, which lets Jackson watch him long enough to see the taut line of his jaw, and the small tick when he grits his teeth.

“I know you want the baby,” Jackson tells him. “I’m not worried about that anymore, and I’ve decided that you’re not the kind of alpha that would treat an omega like my father treated me.” He tries to ignore the brief look Derek casts in his direction. “The problem is that Deucalion is _exactly_ that kind of alpha. Which means Stiles is fucked, and not in a good way.”

“Talk.”

It’s an order from an alpha, and Jackson has no reason to resist it. Once he starts talking, his mind works quickly to organize the information and bring Derek up to speed. He doesn’t leave anything out this time, not Cora’s interest in Stiles’s situation, nor the abuse, nor his own review of the contract. He explains his own life in flat, quiet words as he feels the anger rolling off of Derek, thick and ripe. He ends with the threat he made against his father, and the favor he asked of his mother.

When he’s done, silence falls again, and it stretches while Derek slowly circles the town, keeping the car driving perfectly at the speed limit, not one mile per hour above it. Jackson can see the control, can feel it when he reaches out to bridge the distance, fingers brushing against Derek’s thigh until he jerks way. “Don’t,” Derek says quietly.

“All you need to do is take Deaton away from him.”

“Done.” Derek twists the wheel and pulls off to the side of the road, flicking the blinkers on. “That’s not all I need to do, Jackson. That takes care of Stiles’s health and the child, and it makes sure that Deaton’s on your side—on _my_ side—where our child is concerned. But it doesn’t take care of Deucalion and it doesn’t pay your father back for what he’s done.”

“He doesn’t need—”

“He nearly destroyed you before you were mine.” Derek’s voice is thick with anger and teeth, the growl rising. “He would have kept you from me.”

Jackson doesn’t have the words for that. There are implications in what Derek has said, things that make it hard to breathe, twisting around his heart and coiling in his gut. “He didn’t,” he says. “And he won’t. He can’t touch me, and he can’t touch you. And Deucalion—”

“I’ll be moving in.” Derek raises one eyebrow at Jackson’s expression. “That’s not an offer, Jackson. When Deucalion realizes that you’ve interfered with his omega, you’re going to need an alpha there to protect you.”

“I’m not weak.” Jackson loathes the implication that he can’t protect himself.

“You are an omega, which has nothing to do with strength and everything to do with biology. Don’t be an idiot and accept it for what it is.” Derek twists the key and the engine finally dies, the rumble fading away slowly. He turns in the seat and reaches across the distance between them, his palm flat against the lines of Jackson’s cheekbones. “You’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”

“He could still come after me once this is all done.” Jackson feels the need to push at the limits of this, to try to figure out where the edges are. “There is a clause in the contract that lets him keep Stiles if certain conditions are met. I’m planning on breaking it.”

“What conditions?” 

Derek pulls Jackson closer, mouth moving over his, effectively silencing any response. Jackson can’t think around the taste of him, sinking into the kiss, his hand coming up to thread through Derek’s hair, holding them both in this awkward, twisting position, barely able to reach each other across the Camaro. He pushes the kiss deeper, chasing Derek’s tongue, teasing at him until Derek pushes back and Jackson groans, his dick all too awake and his body rapidly readying itself for what he wants.

Derek smirks. “What conditions?” he repeats.

“You’re an asshole.” Jackson scowls.

“If you want to be a lawyer you need to be sure you can form a coherent argument no matter your physical condition at the time,” Derek tells him. “You need to be able to tell prospective schools and employers that your focus is better than the average alpha, not subverted by the hormones of an omega. So tell me, what conditions?”

Derek’s hand slides up Jackson’s leg, the heel of his palm pressing against Jackson’s dick. His pants might as well not be there, the touch rough and hard enough that Jackson’s hips lift into it.

“ _What conditions_?” Derek growls softly.

Jackson tries to pull his mind back from the fugue it is slipping into. The touch is overwhelming—not just sex, but his _alpha_. His body reacts; he has no choice. But he can marshall control over his mind. His breathing is rough, the words husky when he speaks. “If Stiles produces fewer than two children, Deucalion has first rights for his next rut, and full rights to keep him until then.” His breath hitches, hips rolling into Derek’s grip. He shivers, lets his hands dig into the sides of his seat, holding on. “If the child is stillborn, the same until he produces a minimum of two children for Deucalion. If the children are not alphas, the same. If the children are found later to be anything but alphas, Deucalion can reclaim Stiles, no matter his situation.”

Derek stops, hand resting over Jackson’s hard dick, hot even through the fabric of his pants. “Stilinski allowed this?”

“The language is buried,” Jackson admits. “It’s twisted and hidden deep enough that without counsel, the Sheriff probably didn’t notice it. And he asked my father to go over it.”

“Your father’s in bed with Deucalion,” Derek deduces, and Jackson nods. “Then how do we break it?”

“First step is you taking Deaton away from my father and having him examine Stiles. I’m fairly certain he’s having twins, just due to size. But if you can get the official, publicly submittable records from the examination he had months ago by Deucalion’s healer, I’m guessing the records will show a single child. Stiles hasn’t even thought about the idea it could be more than one, so no one has mentioned the possibility.” Jackson presses his lips together. “If we can manage to get our hands on the real records, I’m guessing Stiles might have started out with a full multiple birth, probably triplets. Peter wanted him for you for a reason, and if Stiles’s lineage is prone to multiple births, that would be good for the Hales. However, if he started out with triplets for Deucalion, and is now down to twins that are publicly documented as a singleton, we can show malice and neglect. That will be enough to break the contract, and if publicized it will ruin Deucalion’s reputation. We need to uncover what he’s done that my father’s covered up for him, and we need to bring it out.”

Derek strokes him roughly, waiting until Jackson whines low in his throat and cants his hips up, unable to help himself. “That doesn’t keep you safe,” Derek murmurs, mouth sliding over Jackson’s jaw, down to his throat, sucking a red mark in place.

“That’s your job,” Jackson says. He doesn’t want to feel weak, but he needs help this time. He needs to admit it. “You want to protect me, then _protect me_.”

“Yes.” The word is so soft, swallowed by the way it muffles against Jackson’s skin. But he feels it as much as he hears it, feels it in the way Derek roughly finishes him, and the way Derek groans at the same time, as if he’s managed to get off just by making Jackson come in his own pants.

Breath comes low and rough, and Jackson turns towards him, nuzzling a kiss. He doesn’t say the words, but he means it with every touch and kiss: _thank you_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those stories that comes together as I write it. I have an outline, yes, but I don't always know all the details until the characters tell me. And the reveal that Stiles may have lost a child, or may have been made to lose a child, is something I was only vaguely aware of in the back of my mind. It took a lot of thinking to write that in, but it's also something Jackson is incredibly aware of and worried about. But anyway, I wanted to bring that out here because I know it can be a triggering topic, in case anyone needed to know.
> 
> And hey there, everyone. I'm sorry for the two week delay, but it was worth it. My mood is back up (much needed, I can't write when I'm down that dark), I got a lot of stuff done for the book publicity (and I'll have likely written about 8k in blog posts by the time this weekend is done), and you guys get an extra long almost 6400 word chapter this week! Don't ask me why I thought this story would be short when I started it... I remember thinking "10 chapters, 10k, it'll be quick" and here we are at almost 32k and there are still three chapters to go, and I'm hoping to bring it in under 50k (I'm guessing 45-50k in the end).
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, for your comments, for reading and enjoying and sticking with me. Go tell all your friends so they can enjoy, too. :) I hope you continue to enjoy this story and that you'll be here through the end of it! And now I'm going to go work on the next chapter! I will be posting on Sunday, March 30th, so see you then.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are WARNINGS on this regarding Stiles's situation, which is going to get worse before it gets better. If you have any potential triggers (I'm going to update tags on the fic after I post this), PLEASE skip to the end notes and read those first.

### Month 7

_~~~ help me become somebody else ~~~_

After all these months, Jackson is used to everyone just walking into the apartment, so when someone actually knocks, it’s something of a surprise. He glances around the living room, taking stock of the people who are there. Scott and Stiles have somehow managed to share one chair, despite the size of Stiles’s stomach (not to mention Scott’s own belly). Cora is sitting at one end of the sofa, Jackson’s feet across her lap, and Derek is at the other end, his arm tucked casually around Jackson, a book in his other hand while he ignores the video game on the television. Erica is on the floor in front of Boyd as he massages her shoulders.

“Lydia?” Jackson guesses, but that doesn’t smell right.

Erica shakes her head. “She’s going to come by in another hour or two. She’s bringing dinner and the three boxes of taste-test goodies I left at the shop, remember?” She points at Jackson’s head. “They say a baby will do that to you, destroy your brain. Not so smart now, are you?”

“Still smarter than you, Reyes.” He grabs the pillow from behind Cora to throw at Erica, who laughs and deflects.

The knock comes again.

“You could just answer the door,” Cora points out.

“Pregnant,” Jackson and Erica both say, while Scott and Stiles hold up their controllers in silent comment that they, too, are busy.

“I’m being held down,” Derek says mildly. Cora sticks out her tongue, then yells out, “It’s not locked. Come on in and join the party!”

As soon as the door opens, Scott is on his feet, the remote clattering to the floor. “Were we going out?” He manages to get the words out before Jackson even realizes that it’s Isaac standing there. “Is Allison waiting?”

For a moment Jackson could swear Isaac looks hurt by those words, then he blinks and it is gone, locked behind a wary expression. “We need to talk,” Isaac says.

The room is flooded with scent, a mix of hunger and need, worry and sorrow. Scott’s eyes drop to the ground. “Oh. Well. Yeah.” He points. “We can go into my room. Just go on in and let me grab my phone. And something to eat. We haven’t had dinner yet.”

“And you’re going to be missing it,” Cora whispers. Jackson kicks her lightly; this isn’t the time.

She turns to him as soon as the boys have disappeared behind the closed door and Stiles has started the game up again, the volume slightly higher than before. “What?” she says. “They’re going to have makeup sex any moment now, and it will be epic, and then Scott will move out and I’m taking his room.”

“That didn’t even make sense. They both looked like someone kicked them in the groin,” Jackson mutters.

“Allison,” Erica says sagely. “I haven’t met her, but I like her more every time I hear about her. I’m betting she’s told them both that they’d better learn to play nice.”

“We could find out for sure if we listened more closely,” Cora suggests.

Erica grins wickedly. “Ooh, I like you.”

The volume on the television slides up to an almost intolerable level. “We are _not_ eavesdropping on Scott,” Stiles says firmly. “Let him have his privacy.”

“I’m definitely taking his room when he moves out,” Cora says mildly. She shifts her hold on Jackson’s feet, curling her own under her as she turns toward him. “Don’t give me that look. I’m tired of sleeping on the couch, I’m not moving out until things are settled, and if I’m not wrong, Scott will be packing his bags and going home with Isaac tonight. It’s an everyone wins situation.”

No one responds, and Jackson isn’t surprised. By now, Erica knows what’s up with Stiles but it isn’t something they all talk about in a group. Stiles’s ears are a furious red and he works the controller with an angry fervency. “Your presence in this apartment isn’t helping _anything_ where Deucalion is concerned,” Stiles finally mutters, voice almost swallowed by the loud sound of the game.

Cora extracts herself from the sofa and gets up to switch the television off. Stiles is on his feet, controller dropped into the chair; he takes two steps forward, getting in her face while she just stands there, arms crossed and waiting.

“How’s the restraining order coming, Jackson?” Erica asks.

“You have no idea how difficult it is to put through a restraining order without alerting the local authorities before it’s done,” Jackson says. “I’m working with the legal group at Hale to get it set up, but we need to make sure it’s solid or else Deucalion will contest it.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Cora says.

Stiles throws his hands up, almost hitting her in the face. “Did I ask you to get involved? No! This is what I get for trusting Jackson. He yanks in all the alphas, and suddenly I’m surrounded and I am _not_ some kind of _prize_. Deucalion’s getting what he _paid_ for. I signed that contract, and I’m doing what I’m supposed to, and it’s going to be _done_ in just a few months and I can get through this. I don’t need you guys watching over me, and possibly getting him to pay attention to my _father_.” He jabs his finger at Cora’s chest. “And don’t even _think_ that trying to _protect_ me means you get to take Deucalion’s place.”

Her hands go up, eyes wide. “That’s not what this is about, Stiles.”

Jackson feels fingers at the nape of his neck, curling lightly, a silent notice to _stay put_. He’s not getting in the middle of this one; he’s seen it coming for a while, watching Stiles’s agitation since Cora and Derek both moved in a week ago.

“This is about protecting you,” Cora continues, her hands spread to her sides. “It’s about protecting your babies. It’s about making sure Deucalion can’t hurt you. Any of you. Because he _will_.”

“So who’s protecting my dad?” Stiles spits out. “You guys are sitting here on my couch like we’re all just friends hanging out. Maybe one of you should go keep an eye on _him_ so they don’t use him as a way to get through to me.”

“Peter’s good for something,” Derek says quietly.

“Is he there to annoy Stiles’s dad or piss off anyone who comes after him?” Erica asks.

“He’s been given full license to do anything that is required to ensure that the Sheriff’s safety comes first.” Derek’s voice has the edge of an alpha under it, and they all know exactly what _anything_ can entail. Jackson has no doubt that Peter is happy to act as Derek’s enforcer in this case. “Stiles, your father is safe.”

Stiles deflates, one hand falling to cover his belly protectively. “I’m done with games. I’m just… I’m done with tonight. Let me know when the food’s here, but I just can’t deal with everyone right now.” He turns away, both hands shifting to press against his hips, changing the sway so he can balance as he waddles slightly, already carrying low. “By the way, tomorrow’s a Deucalion night. It’s been a week.”

“Stiles…”

He turns to glare. “Jackson, no. You can go on with your attempt, but I’m dealing with the life I made for myself. I can’t buy my way out of it. I can’t twist words to make it different. I made a deal, I signed a contract, and I’m getting through it the best that I can. I’ve got him down to weekly now that the baby’s too big to make anything comfortable, and he still thinks I need him. I’m not going to change that, because as long as he thinks that I _need_ him here, he thinks everything’s normal.”

“He’s going to hurt you and—”

“I’ll be fine.” He cuts Erica off and walks away, his door slamming behind him.

“Should we…?” Cora’s voice trails off as Erica shakes her head.

“Not when he’s like this, no.” Erica’s laugh is soft and rueful. “You’re driving him nuts, he’s jealous because I’m in such a good place, and he’s being an asshole in his misery. All we can do is keep an eye on him and make sure things don’t get worse. Lydia won’t let me be here when Deucalion comes.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jackson assures her. “And Cora and Derek aren’t leaving me alone with him.”

“I’m not leaving _Stiles_ alone with him.” Cora’s tone is definitive. “You’re Derek’s problem.” She slumps back down on the sofa, picking up Jackson’s feet and putting them on her lap like a shield. “Why is he such an _asshole_ sometimes?”

Jackson’s not sure what to say to that. He exchanges a glance with Erica and Boyd, answering Boyd’s shrug with a quirked eyebrow of his own. There isn’t really anything _to_ say; they are all in a holding pattern until Jackson can manage to get the paperwork done and settled.

There’s a thump and a moan from beyond Scott’s door; Erica’s hand snakes out to grab the forgotten remote from the chair and quickly flicks the TV back on, the sound slamming into them abruptly. “Movie until Lydia gets here with food?” she suggests loudly, and Jackson is more than happy to agree. 

He leans back against Derek, smiling when Derek finally sets the book down and wraps both arms around him. Derek presses his mouth to Jackson’s throat, inhaling and exhaling in a brush of warmth. Jackson’s body heats and he won’t look at Erica because he knows the smirk she’d have. He can already see the way Cora looks at them both. But what they think doesn’t matter; Jackson’s fine right where he is.

#

Jackson is in his room, deep in the midst of going over paperwork one more time when Derek slips the pen from his fingers. Jackson sits back, pushing his fingers through his hair. “You’re early.”

“I’m late,” Derek says. “And you haven’t eaten.” He sets a plate on the table and Jackson’s stomach growls in response. “Cora told me she couldn’t get your attention and that not even her argument with Deucalion distracted you.”

Jackson frowns. “Deucalion’s here?”

“It’s later than you think and he came early. He’s already been here for two hours. Cora called me to let me know.”

Jackson pushes to his feet, wavering until he finds his balance with Derek’s hand under his elbow. “That’s longer than usual.”

“I’m aware,” Derek replies, voice tight. “Cora’s camped outside Stiles’s room, listening to every sound they make. But she can’t interrupt, even when she heard them discussing the fact that she’s here at all.”

“I’m ready to get the restraining order signed,” Jackson tells him. “I have everything here, it’s notarized, it just needs the judge’s signature, and then it’ll be put on file with the sheriff. We have all the documentation we could possibly need, and Deucalion’s healer has withdrawn from Deucalion’s employment; that notification will go out tomorrow. We asked him to wait long enough to give us time to get everything signed.” Jackson’s mouth twists into a rueful expression. “I think he’ll be putting in his resignation from Rio. I can’t blame him.”

“And Deaton?”

Jackson leans into the touch Derek gives him, the hand that touches the nape of his neck, Derek’s other hand still on his arm. “Signed on with Hale, yes, and I’ve got his report on Stiles’s health. Stiles okayed me having access to it.” He touches his belly without thinking, fingers curling protectively over it. “He’s definitely carrying twins, and he needs to slow down,” Jackson says quietly. “He’s big now; it’s going to get worse because he doesn’t have a wide frame to accommodate them. He’s got his father’s heritage, but his mother’s build. It’s not a great combination for an omega.”

“Does that mean physical activity of the sort that Deucalion requires could be a danger to his child?” Derek’s tone is mild, but Jackson can feel the way it reverberates under his skin, alpha in evidence.

“I think Deucalion is banking on it,” Jackson says quietly. “Otherwise he loses access to Stiles when the babies are born.”

There is the sound of a quickly rising growl in the distance, then a door slamming open.

“Get out,” Deucalion roars and Jackson shivers with the sound of it under his skin. It makes him want to run, to race for the door and pound down the stairs until he is as far from Deucalion as possible. Derek’s hand on his shoulder keeps him still and anchored there in the room until the urge dissipates.

“Stay here,” Derek murmurs before he leaves the room.

It’s good advice— _really_ good advice—but Jackson ignores it. He can feel the way three alphas are readying to fight, and he knows Stiles will be as caught in the crossfire as he is, and likely weaker and less able to resist after two hours with Deucalion. He moves slowly, staying back from Derek as he walks on awkward feet, belly swaying, but he follows into the kitchen, staying out of the way.

Cora stands right outside of Stiles’s room and Deucalion stands in his doorway. Jackson can’t see Stiles, nor can he squeeze past Deucalion into the room and he’s sure Deucalion planned that, which means Stiles can’t be in good shape. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to listen past the growls from the three alphas in the small hallway between kitchen and living room, but he can’t hear a thing.

“I’m not leaving.” Cora’s voice is thick with teeth. “And you know you can’t make me. You don’t even come _close_ to being the alpha that I am. You aren’t even close to being the alpha that _Peter_ is.”

Deucalion snarls, and Jackson takes an unplanned step backwards. It only makes Derek and Cora move closer to him. Derek seems to be letting Cora fight this fight, giving her backup if need be. Jackson can almost feel the restraint rolling off of him as he holds back.

“Is this a challenge for my omega?” Decualion smiles sharply. “He doesn’t want to be claimed. He doesn’t want _you_.”

“He doesn’t want _you_ , either,” Cora snaps. “Can’t you tell? Can’t you even smell that your hormones are no longer in sync? He doesn’t _need_ you. He doesn’t _care_.”

“So? He’s mine.” Deucalion moves into her space, staring down at her. “He is _mine_ until the contract is fulfilled.”

“Or broken.” Jackson knows he shouldn’t say anything, but he can’t stay quiet, not now that he catches the scent of blood rising. “Stiles needs a healer. _Now_.”

Deucalion turns his attention to Jackson, growling furiously while Derek grabs Jackson and shoves him behind him, taking up space as he snarls back at Deucalion.

“Your omega challenged me.”

“My omega is _mine_ ,” Derek growls softly. “And if you want him, you’ll go through each and every Hale to get to him. And you have harmed your omega or your _children_ in any way, I will ensure that you pay for it. Get out.”

“You can’t make me leave.” Deucalion laughs at that. “Not without Stiles.”

“He’s not going anywhere.” Cora edges behind Deucalion and he takes a step out of the door, moving into the living room as she pushes him back. “Expect the paperwork soon.”

“In an hour,” Jackson says, because he knows that Derek’s lawyers can get a judge at a moment’s notice, and he’ll get this signed. “You’ll have the paperwork in an hour that says you can’t come anywhere near Stiles.”

“You can’t.”

“I have all the records.” Jackson fights to keep his voice steady. “I’ve spoken with the healer you employed, and I’ve had Stiles examined by the Hale healer. We know what you’ve done and we can make a case for what you plan to do, and it won’t be allowed. You won’t be able to cover this one up, Deucalion.”

“Do you _really_ think that you can go up against my lawyers in court, omega?” Deucalion’s laugh is dark and deep, shivering into the room. “Do you _really_ think that you can go up against your _father_?”

“He’s not my father,” Jackson says. “Not by blood, and my lineage is better than his.” He arches one eyebrow, moving sideways just enough that Derek is still protecting him, but Jackson is in view as well. “And I will kick his ass if you want to take this to court. Not to mention that I have resources you can’t even imagine. I’ve already had the publicity folks at Hale draft a potential press release, just in case you want this to go public. I’m sure they’ll eat it up, adding fuel to any rumors from the crimes you’ve already covered up for your pack. But if you want the world to know what a sadistic, cruel bastard you are, using an omega for a toy and risking your own children… I’m happy to help with that. I can make certain that everyone gets a stark, blunt view of your world.”

Deucalion’s roar shakes the room, but Jackson and the Hales don’t move.

“Get out.” Cora’s words are quiet but full of power, and when she pushes at Deucalion’s chest, he stumbles towards the door. “Get out. And don’t come back.”

The door slams behind Deucalion when he leaves, and Jackson has a feeling he won’t stop moving until he’s several blocks away. He’s thankful that Cora’s voice was entirely focused on Deucalion or he might be running too.

“I smell blood.”

Jackson nods, telling Derek, “You call Deaton and Cora, I need you to talk to your lawyers—I’ve been working most with Smith. Tell them to get the paperwork signed now, and then call the Sheriff to bring him over. I’ll stay with Stiles.”

Cora makes a move towards the door, but Jackson gets there before her and shakes his head. “He doesn’t need an alpha right now. He needs a friend. And I know you—” He stops because this is so fucking complicated, twisted between politics and friendship and probably something else where Cora is concerned. “It’s not time for that. Definitely not now. Trust me.”

She faces him down for a long moment, but when he finally steps into Stiles’s room and closes the door, she doesn’t fight him for entrance. Jackson takes a deep breath and centers himself, trying to let the alpha itch under his skin wash away so he can just be himself right now, not shivering with the urge for fight or flight.

When he makes his way to Stiles’s side, he is worried at first that the other boy is unconscious, but he thinks it’s just sleep. He hopes it’s just sleep. The scent of blood is worrying, but Jackson won’t look for it, won’t invade his privacy like that. Instead he climbs up to sit on the bed next to Stiles, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. And when Stiles curls into him, wrapping his arms around Jackson’s waist and holding on tightly, Jackson slides down so that he can hold him in return, letting him know that he’s safe while they wait for Deaton to arrive.

#

By the time everything is said and done, it is after midnight. There are two Hale security guards at the apartment—one on the landing outside the door and the other on the couch, watching the television with the sound kept low. Stiles is sleeping with a sedative in his room, the Sheriff resting uncomfortably in a chair nearby and Cora is in Scott’s old room next door. Jackson peeked in on her before he retreated to his own room and she is sleeping fitfully, curled tight around herself, seeming somehow more vulnerable and younger than she has ever seemed to Jackson before.

Jackson closes the door, uncomfortable with the strangers in his home. He’s used to Cora, but two strange alphas from the Hale security force bother him. It makes him want to curl protectively around his child and not let them anywhere near. He wants Derek to return, but Derek is outside speaking quietly with Deaton so that they’ll have the full information on Stiles’s condition before the official report comes the next day.

Jackson already knows a little about it, and he doesn’t want to think too closely on it yet. He’s worried about how Stiles will manage come morning, and what will happen to them all down the road.

He strips down to his shorts and lies down and pulls the covers up, burrowing into the warmth, hiding under the heavy weight of the comforter. His ears prick when he hears the door open and he listens to the low voices, identifying the guard and Derek speaking, even though he can’t quite make out the words. By the time the door to his room opens, Jackson has thrown back the covers to make room for Derek. He sits up and watches him in the darkness, barely lit by the light of the moon filtering in through the window.

“He lost the second baby,” Derek says quietly, looking down as he toes off his shoes and works the fly of his belt.

Jackson draws his knees up, curling around his own belly. He feels their child twist and kick, turning somersaults as if it knows he needs the reassurance right now. “I’d guessed as much. How is he? How’s…” It’s hard to ask because as much as Jackson went into this thinking it would be impersonal, he knows now that it’s not.

“The last baby is fine, and will continue to be fine as long as Stiles takes it easy. The restraining order is in effect so Deucalion can’t see him, nor can he send any of his pack in to see him.” Derek sits on the edge of the bed, skins off his shirt and tosses it aside. “Litigation around the contract will begin tomorrow. You can be involved up until the point when Deaton says it’s a risk to your health or our baby’s health.” Derek slides under the covers and pulls Jackson with him, wrapping around him from behind, hands against his belly. “I won’t risk you.”

“I won’t risk the baby. But I need to work with your people. I’m not a lawyer, but no one knows my father and his tactics better than me.” They may have run up against him in court, but Jackson _lived_ with the man, was _manipulated_ by him and more importantly, was raised to be his successor before he turned out to be an omega and disappointment. “I can’t be in court anyway, since I don’t have a law degree, but I can be behind the scenes. Deucalion is never going to get his hands on Stiles again, or his child.”

There’s a huge decision waiting to be made there, and Jackson isn’t looking forward to the conversation. He can’t imagine being in Stiles’s shoes and being cut off, saddled with an unexpected kid after all of this.

“Cora’s going to offer for the baby,” Derek says quietly, and Jackson snorts because of course Derek can tell what he’s thinking. “No strings attached. Stiles doesn’t owe her anything, he can go his own way. She wants children eventually, and the Hales need more family and this child will more than likely be an alpha. Raised with us, it will have more power than Deucalion could ever give it.” He stops then, pressing a kiss to Jackson’s shoulder. “I hate to imagine what you would have been like if you were raised by a stronger alpha. You came out formidable as it is.”

“That’s not a word usually applied to omegas.”

“Most people are ignorant.” Derek breathes slowly, breath soft and warm over Jackson’s skin. “The strongest packs are those that know the strength of everyone in it. Omegas are breeders, yes, and they are the core of our pack. We can’t keep our strength without them. But the rut doesn’t make them weak; it just means they have to breed eventually. All it takes is learning to work with the cycle to get around that. You’ve proven already that you aren’t weak, don’t you think?”

“Stiles isn’t weak either,” Jackson murmurs. “Or Erica. Or Scott.”

“They have different strengths.”

“Stiles is as strong as I am, and when he figures out what he wants to do with his life, he’ll be good at it.” That’s something Jackson should ask. Maybe Erica knows.

Out of them all, maybe Scott is the weakest, but is it weak to just want to be a part of a triad and be their breeder and their glue? Jackson toys with the thought in his mind, putting together what he knows of his friends now, and their places in their packs. It’s nothing like what he expected life as an omega to be.

“Why don’t we go to your place?” It seems like the question comes from nowhere in his mind, but Jackson can follow the path of logic. It seems as if he has a place in the Hale pack now, as if maybe this is something else, more than a contract, but he doesn’t know what to do with that. And Derek continues to keep him away from the personal side of the pack, moving everything into Jackson’s home instead.

Derek huffs, a muttering sound, and doesn’t reply.

Which Jackson supposes is reply enough. “Never mind,” he murmurs.

A soft snort. “I didn’t think you’d let it go so easily,” Derek whispers.

“You obviously don’t want to talk about it.” Jackson’s throat is tight, cutting off his words sharply. “And it doesn’t matter. I’m thankful for the opportunities you’ve given me and I will happily pay you back for my education by joining the Hale law team if you’ll have me once I’m done with school. You don’t need to worry about me expecting—”

He is cut off by Derek pulling on his shoulder, pushing him down into the mattress as he surges over Jackson, kissing him roughly. “Peter,” he says. “Peter is in my home. I won’t bring anyone there, nor will Cora, not until we figure out a way to ensure that he isn’t going to try to steal any omega away from us. You and Stiles are safest here.”

“Stiles doesn’t belong to Cora.” It’s easier to say that than it is to recognize aloud the fact that Derek _has_ thought about it, has obviously thought it through in depth and doesn’t want to risk Jackson’s safety.

Derek snorts again. “Tell that to Cora. She’s patient. She’ll wait. If it takes ten years of courting him, she’ll do that. But now that she’s recognized it, it’s just a question of waiting for him to realize that they’ve already bonded.”

“Can that happen, even when he’s carrying Deucalion’s baby?”

Derek is quiet for a long moment before he admits, “I wanted to make sure Deucalion had no hold over Stiles, so I asked Deaton to check for a bond. So yes, it can happen. She won’t push anything. She won’t even go near him, if he doesn’t want her to. She knows he’s broken and battered and that he needs friends and time right now, and she’ll do her best to be that friend if he wants. But yes, it can happen, and when he’s ready— _if_ he’s ever ready—she’ll be there.”

It’s a lot to chew on, because that is _not_ the way things work. Not biologically, not in their world. Finding the right alpha and omega combination is rare enough; having the bond be strong enough subconsciously to help break a pregnancy bond… Jackson knows that must be a part of what happened, what gave Stiles the strength to resist Deucalion. To not _need_ Deucalion.

Derek shifts behind him, and just like that, Jackson _needs_. He feels the flush of warmth in his skin, the way his body slicks in hunger, and he pushes back. “Are you sure?” Derek murmurs, his hand sliding over the bulge of Jackson’s belly, comforting and careful.

“Positive.” A whine creeps into his voice, needy and high. “Fuck. Please.”

Derek pushes Jackson’s shorts down then his own, tossing them somewhere in the room and Jackson really doesn’t care where once Derek is back behind him, thick cock sliding through the slickness that has leaked to lubricate his crack.

“It doesn’t have to be slow,” Jackson whispers, and Derek laughs at that.

Derek lifts Jackson’s leg, opening him so that Derek can slide in from behind, making slow, shallow thrusts. The position isn’t ideal for a solid fucking, but it’s perfect for the baby, letting Jackson lie on his side, the bed taking the weight of his belly. He twists his leg, pushing his foot down, holding it for Derek to free his hand so that Derek can find Jackson’s cock instead. Again, slow strokes, matching each thrust as Derek pushes into him.

“Faster,” Jackson whines; Derek doesn’t oblige.

The pressure builds in each push and pull, slipping into and out of his body. Derek’s mouth is on his shoulder, on his back, peppering kisses and bites, sucking marks into pale skin. Jackson shivers as Derek maps a path through the faint freckles on his shoulder, groans when he sucks hard at the tender spot where throat and neck meet. He is shaking with need, aching with the desire to come.

He feels it building from deep inside, feels the way that Derek stutters in his movements behind him and that curls in his gut with an answering warmth. Slow strokes become faster, harder, more urgent and he knows Derek is close. Jackson doesn’t try to stay silent, whispering words of encouragement, begging him quietly as Derek’s fist rolls over the end of Jackson’s cock, stroking him hard now. He loses control abruptly, body going taut and still as he cries out, spilling over Derek’s hand and the sheets. Derek isn’t far behind, biting down on Jackson’s shoulder to contain his yell when he spills into him, filling him with warmth.

They lie together for a long moment, sweat-slicked skin pressed close and comfortable. Derek twitches his hips and withdraws, but stays tucked in tight against Jackson, arm wrapped around his center.

“Blankets,” Jackson murmurs, and Derek pulls them up again, cocooning them both.

It is safe here. Safe, warm, and comfortable, and this space feels like it is _theirs_. They can let the real world intrude again in the morning; the night is just for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first...
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter contains a miscarriage of one of Stiles's babies. It's been implied pretty heavily that at one point he was carrying triplets and already lost one, and this chapter confirms that he loses another child at Deucalion's hands. I feel so guilty about poor Stiles in this story! But things will get better.
> 
> And next things next...
> 
> HI! Sorry this is posting so late. I finished writing it on Friday, then promptly went out of town for twenty-four hours, and apparently the mom in the household leaving town is a signal for everything to go to hell. *rolls eyes* I've been trying to post this since 8am and have since done a lot of laundry, got a used fridge and dishwasher, done dishes, organized people in the house, badgered my son to do his project, and had my Mac lock up no less than three times (the only times I was able to sit at it, of course, to try to post!). *deep breath* It's been a long day. ANYWAY. 
> 
> So, here we are, with only two chapters left. There are some more lighthearted things coming (I can hear you all saying "PHEW" from here) and I promise it will wrap up by the end of chapter ten. Unless I tag on an epilogue. But right now I'm planning on it ending at chapter 10!
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, April 6th. The last chapter's posting date may be slightly complicated by me being on vacation starting the 12th, so we shall have to see how that goes. Please forgive me if it shows up late (or early). And of course, if you want updates on my status, to chat, or just to lurk, feel free to find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	9. Chapter 9

### Month 8

_~~~ you can have my everything ~~~_

It takes a while to settle into a new routine, and for a long time Jackson worries about Stiles. He is quiet and withdrawn, refusing to be in the living room when Derek and Cora—or any of the alphas—are present. He emerges during the day, when it is just him and Jackson, and they play video games together without ever discussing what happened that last time that Deucalion was there. Sheriff Stilinski visits often, and Jackson can see the pain in his eyes that Stiles kept things from him, but he doesn’t push either.

Stiles slowly comes back to life as the weeks progress, as if removing Deucalion’s presence in his life lifted a weight from his chest. Color returns to his cheeks, and he eats more, putting weight over bones until he seems less breakable. He surprises Jackson one night when he laughs out loud, then stops, apparently also shocking himself.

“It’s getting better,” Stiles admits. He doesn’t say thank you—he has never said thank you—but that’s okay. Jackson doesn’t need the words, he just wants to see his friend heal.

He’s friends with Stiles-fucking-Stilinski. Life definitely changes.

“Better enough that you might want to go to Erica’s for the shop opening tomorrow?” Jackson tries to make it sound like it’s nothing, but of course, it’s everything. She’s their friend—one of their _best_ friends. And the alphas will be there. Over the last month, the group has become even more tight knit, pulling Scott, Allison and Isaac into their midst and adopting them. They all do everything together, and Lydia has informed them all that if they are _not_ there to support Erica for the grand opening, she will personally ensure that their life is hell.

Except for Stiles. He has special dispensation.

Stiles bites his lip, looks at the TV… changes the channel. “Maybe,” he says, and Jackson takes it as a good sign.

Later that night, when an impromptu dinner and movie night is breaking up, he hears Stiles emerge from his room to talk to Scott about getting online for some Xbox time soon. Jackson stands in the kitchen, head cocked as he catalogs which voices are still in the apartment and who has already left. The conversation is short before Scott trails out after Allison and Isaac, but Stiles’s door doesn’t slam closed again immediately.

“What is it?” Derek murmurs, wrapping his arms around Jackson from behind, and Jackson raises one hand to say _not yet_.

“I can probably kick your ass in Call of Duty.” Cora’s voice sounds idle, as if it doesn’t matter, but Jackson can smell nerves from here. He can also catch the scent of a wary omega, and the silence that follows her words. Her inhale sounds loud. “Or not. I just thought you might like to play against someone who’s actually a challenge.”

“I like playing against Scott. Or killing Jackson.” The words sound tight from Stiles’s throat.

“You can read Scott’s every move almost before he makes it,” Cora says. “And you win against Jackson every time. He isn’t even a threat by now. You’re too good a tactician, and your mind’s about six steps ahead of them both. I just thought I’d offer you a chance to play someone different.”

“You think you’re that good?”

“I think I’m better than they are. Alpha instincts.” Jackson can imagine her sharp smile. “So? Up for a game?”

There’s a step, then another step, then the creak of Stiles’s door opening. “Chess,” Stiles says, changing the game entirely. “I’ll set the board up in the living room in the morning. No one’s ever beaten me. You play, right?”

Cora snorts. “Of course I play. Stakes?”

“If I win, you move out.”

Dead silence again. Derek’s arm tightens around Jackson’s center, pulling him closer, and Jackson tries not to make a sound.

“If you want me to move out, I’ll move out,” Cora says quietly. “I’ll go in the morning. It doesn’t take a chess game to get rid of me. But the security guys are staying. Even with the restraining order, Derek and I don’t trust Deucalion.”

“No.” Stiles’s voice is flat. “If I _win_ , you move out.” And Jackson wonders why the game is important for this, why he doesn’t just make Cora go now if that’s what he really wants.

“And if I win?” Cora’s voice is careful, light.

He has to imagine the answering shrug in the silence, before Cora makes a soft noise of assent. “If I win,” she says, “you interview at Hale for a position in IT security.”

“Okay.” The footsteps come quickly then, Stiles’s door slamming shut.

Derek pulls at Jackson, not letting him go to check on either Stiles or Cora in the aftermath. He tugs Jackson into their room, pushing the door closed with Jackson against it, then nudges as close as he can with Jackson’s belly in the way and kisses him slowly.

“What was that for?” Not that Jackson needs a reason. Instead he’s more than willing to strip off his clothes, helping Derek pull down his comfortable sweats to find that he hasn’t bothered with anything underneath.

“No reason.” Derek’s voice is gruff, muffled by the way his mouth presses to Jackson’s throat. “It’s late, and I want to fuck you before bed.”

Jackson whines softly, giving his acquiescence, loving the way Derek presses kisses along his chest and stomach as he traces a path lower, going to his knees. He can’t see Derek easily, but he feels the wet warmth of a mouth on his dick, and he groans at the sensation.

Every night they come together and every night Jackson realizes that he is used to this, that he _wants_ this. He can’t tell any more how much of it is the pregnancy and how much of it is his heart getting involved, and he’s still afraid to figure that out.

Derek strokes his dick with one hand, tongue lapping back behind Jackson’s balls where he is already slick with want. “Oh fuck,” Jackson groans, his hand dropping to find Derek’s head, holding him. “You’re off tomorrow. Right?” He doesn’t have much time left to be coherent, and he wants to use that tiny bit of coherence then and there, before he lets his mind go and gives in to the sex.

“Grand opening ceremony’s at eleven.” Derek whispers the words against Jackson’s skin. “We can sleep in and wake up slowly. I want to wake you up by fucking you slowly until you scream, then I’m going to do it all over again in the shower. We have time tonight and time tomorrow morning and I am going to enjoy every second of it.”

Jackson sinks slowly to his knees, grabbing Derek’s head and pulling him in to kiss him. He wants to take advantage of every moment Derek is willing to give him like this, every second that he can have before it’s over, and right now, they have all night. Cora and Stiles are forgotten as Jackson lets go and gives in.

#

“Nervous?”

Erica glares at Jackson. “I am as large as a cow, I can’t walk without waddling, I have to pee every five seconds, and my hair has decided to get red highlights randomly all on its own and I _completely_ blame Lydia for that unexpected and weird miracle. There is a line down the block waiting for my store to open because Lydia took out an ad in every single paper and magazine known to man, and Scott just called to say he can’t find a place to park so he can bring in the ceremonial ribbon and I _think_ that might be code for the fact that he and Isaac stopped to fuck on the way from their house so he’s running late. What do _you_ think?”

“Nervous,” Jackson decides with a grin, and he pulls her in, letting her wrap her arms around him and cling tightly. His child moves and he feels the roll of Erica’s baby in response. “Also, I’m pretty sure that if we keep hugging like this, our children are having their first play date before they even exit the womb, and it’s starting to feel awkward.”

“Are you pawing my wife again?” Boyd’s voice rumbles from the other room, footsteps getting closer.

Jackson loosens his grip, but Erica burrows closer. “I’m pawing him,” she calls back, voice muffled. “He’s letting me cry on his shoulder so I don’t start bawling in public. Is Scott back with the damned ribbon?”

“Yeah. Sorry I made him late.”

Erica pulls back and they both turn to see Stiles standing there in the doorway, a length of heavy, wide, blue ribbon draped over his hands. “Stiles!” She attacks him, yanking him close and holding on while Stiles makes a face at the fervor of her hug.

“Still kind of feeling vaguely breakable,” he reminds her, but she doesn’t let up. Boyd manages to slide the ribbon from his hands and takes it away, muttering something about getting everything ready.

“You made it,” Jackson says, and Stiles smiles ruefully.

“It took me a half hour to decide to come,” he admits. “I got dressed. Scott got there with Isaac and they already had the ribbon, but I just… I couldn’t make myself leave the apartment. So I’m the reason Scott was late. Don’t blame him, Erica.”

“Oh, I can blame him still. It doesn’t matter if it’s actually his fault.” She burrows her face against his throat, holding on tight. “I’m so glad you’re here. What changed your mind?”

“The queen’s gambit.” Stiles bites his lip, gaze flicking from one to the other. “It’s a chess move. An opening move.”

Jackson has no idea what he’s talking about in terms of the game, but he has a guess how it might relate to real life. “Did you guys bring Cora with you?”

“She came on her own. Left a few minutes before us. After she did her first move in our game.” At Erica’s frown, Stiles explains, “We’re playing chess.”

“You have the weirdest idea of foreplay.”

“It’s not foreplay.”

Erica raises both eyebrows. “Right. I’m not saying I _mind_ , Stiles. I still love you and all your weirdness, and hey, my life is a lot simpler now that you and Jackson finally get along. Apparently I should have suggested a giant pregnancy fest years ago, but there was that whole problem of being too young in high school. Not to mention that it never occurred to me.”

Stiles grabs her and nudges her toward the door. “Stop being all sentimental and full of shit, Reyes, and go cut the ribbon your husband’s just strung across the door. There are people out there starving for sweets.”

It’s not that simple, of course. They open the door to the shop and Boyd’s already there waiting for her. He pulls Erica in with one arm around her shoulder and holds her while Lydia speaks, saying something about the amazing treats that await the taste buds of all who enter. Jackson leans back against Derek, letting him take his weight for a moment, and Stiles stands off to one side, his arms crossed and body tense, but staying with them. Scott, Isaac and Allison move around behind the counter, calling out to Stiles to come help them, and soon they drag Cora into it as well, making double and triple sure that everything is ready before people come in.

Jackson grins as Erica steps forward on unsteady feet to cut the ribbon. There are tears shining in her eyes once it’s done and Lydia and Boyd draw her close to soothe her together while Jackson and Derek carefully direct the crowd inside.

Once everyone’s neatly in line and the folks behind the counter are serving up sweets as quick as they can, Jackson manages to move off to one side. Derek goes to replace Stiles, sending him to join Jackson at the small corner table that he has claimed. Scott refuses to take a break, beaming at every customer and lighting up like the sun whenever Isaac or Allison brush by him with a light touch. And Erica… she just looks happy. Exhausted, slightly terrified, but at the same time she looks as if she’s finally found her place.

“Do you envy her?” Stiles asks softly.

“Sometimes,” Jackson admits. “She’s known what she was going to do since we were little; she just didn’t know how she was going to get the money for it. This solution is perfect, more perfect than she expected. Erica can manipulate a lot, but I don’t think she planned for what they fell into with Lydia.”

Stiles nods. “What about you?”

Jackson looks over and can’t help the wry smile that twists his mouth. “I’ve always known I was going to be a lawyer; it wasn’t an option in my house. Now my dad thinks I can’t do it and I’m planning on doing it anyway.”

“Derek?” Stiles has yet to look at Jackson, his gaze remaining fixed on the crowd and the people behind the counter serving.

“Offered to send me to school. I’m going to take him up on it.”

“For another child?”

“Haven’t negotiated yet.”

Stiles finally glances over, his expression neutral. “That doesn’t sound like you, agreeing to something before you know the terms.”

“I went into this blind,” Jackson admits. “There’s a lot more to it than knowing what the contract says.”

“Next time I do this I’m going to have it written into the contract that any alpha I mate with has to experience childbirth,” Stiles muses.

“Impossible.” Jackson may not have been completely aware of all the details of what pregnancy entailed when he started, but everyone knows the simplest of facts, and one of them is that alphas can’t bear children.

The grin that appears is reminiscent of Stiles’s cheer from before Deucalion. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean they can’t experience what it’s like.” He pulls out his phone and pulls up a video. “Watch.”

The video begins with an explanation of childbirth, and how it affects both omegas and betas. While there are studies that show that omegas are more suitable to child-bearing, and therefore more likely to have an easy birth with less pain, it doesn’t make Jackson feel any better. When his child rolls over, pressing a foot into his kidney, he is reminded that the time when he will give birth is getting close. _Very_ close.

“What are we watching?” Cora drops into a chair with a sigh. “Tired now. And no,” she puts a hand on Stiles’s arm. “You don’t get to go help. Scott’s finally sitting down, too, and Erica isn’t doing any more than talking to people. Allison, Isaac, Boyd and Lydia have everything under control. Your dad’s coming by soon, too, and Peter’s with him. I’m sure they’ll pitch in.”

Jackson hears her, but he can’t tear his eyes from the screen. The omega there is smiling when his story begins, but as labor goes on, the sounds begin. The horrible screaming sounds that end when Jackson quickly mutes the phone, although he can still see the expressions. Academically, Jackson knows the omega isn’t dying, but it still sends chills through him. “Childbirth,” he mutters.

“The video gets better, trust me,” Stiles says. “Keep watching.” His smile is sharp when he looks past Jackson. “You should watch this one, too, Derek.”

A hand settles on Jackson’s shoulder and he leans back into it, tilting his head slightly until Derek strokes fingers along the line of his jaw and neck. On the small screen, the birthing process finishes, and the omega and his alpha are left holding a pair of twins. Both are smiling, despite the sweat, and the alpha kisses the omega and says something unheard.

“Since you turned off the audio, I’ll have to narrate.” Stiles leans over and touches the screen. “The alpha just said something to the omega about what he went through, and the doctor noted that every contraction was recorded. They have a device that they can hook up to anyone—including alphas—and induce the exact same pain as experienced by someone in the throes of childbirth. Keep watching.”

It’s the alpha’s turn, and while Jackson knows that the pain _must_ be the same if they are replicating the same pains experienced by the omega, the alpha seems to be taking them far worse. It’s enough to make Jackson cringe back from the phone, arms curling around his gut. “I’m talking to Deaton about some other way of getting it out,” he mutters. “I am not going through that.”

“And that’s what I’m writing into my contract.” Stiles takes his phone back. “If another alpha wants to get me pregnant, they have to know what it’s like to actually give birth.” He pockets his phone and crosses his arms.

“I’m just not giving birth.” Jackson raises his hands, fingers spread. “Not at all. I am _not_ going through that.” He ignores the fact that there is no other way; the baby has to come out.

“What if I did it first?” Derek asks.

Jackson goes still. “You’d do that?”

“I wish I could see it.” Cora shakes her head, staring at her brother. “I can’t even imagine you in labor. It’s going to  _hurt_ , you know.”

“Would you do it?” Stiles tilts his head, looks at Cora. “Would you put yourself through that much pain in order to reassure your omega?”

Cora’s expression slips rapidly from amused to serious. “When I have kids, it’s going to be with someone I love,” she says. “Peter and Derek can do their thing for making sure they have little alphas and rebuild the Hale empire, but I’m having kids because I _want_ them.” She shakes her head. “Not that they don’t want them. They do. We all want family again. We used to have this amazing, huge pack and now… there are cousins, but at our core, it’s just us three. We’re hungry for more. But we want a family like the one we had, and my parents…” There’s a small, soft whine at the back of her throat. “They were in love. They were amazing together, and my dad was so strong. I want _that_. And if I have _that_ , then yes, anything my partner wants, I’ll do it. If that’s what it takes to make them comfortable with having kids, I will do anything they ask.”

Derek’s fingers slide against the skin of Jackson’s cheek again. “If it will help you, I’ll do it,” he repeats. “If the technology isn’t local, I have more than enough money to pay to bring it here. I’ll get it set up, as long as you’re with me when I do it.”

“See?” Cora says quietly. “That’s love. That’s what I want someday.”

Jackson leans back into Derek, very carefully _not_ thinking about what Cora just said. It’s not love, it’s just… it’s hormones. The hormones that make sure an alpha and omega stay close together for the sake of the pregnancy. He tilts his head back, considering Derek’s expression before he nods slowly. “I want you to do it.”

“And now I’ve decided I hate you, too, dude,” Stiles says quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see this happen.”

“It’s not a spectator sport,” Derek says, tone mild.

“I need eyes and ears in the room, and I can’t be there,” Cora retorts. “You’re sending me to Chicago, remember? So you let Stiles observe, he’ll tell me how it goes, and you don’t have to put up with more shit from your little sister.”

“I’ll just be the guy with the camera in the corner,” Stiles says. “I am not going to miss this.”

It’s too much information and Jackson is frozen, pulling the pieces into line in his mind, tracking the facts and laying them out neatly, trying to decide the order in which to approach them. “I want Stiles there,” he says. “And yes, I want you to do it, Derek. Before I have this child.” Because when he thinks about the video, the tension slips back in. The baby has to come _out_ sometime. Somehow. And it is going to be painful, and terrifying and Jackson just wants to know that he has other people in his corner. _Friends_ in his corner.

He waits until they’ve both agreed, then he stands up and points to the chair. Derek raises one eyebrow, but Jackson points again, arches both of his own eyebrows in answer, and says, “Sit. There aren’t enough chairs to pull up another one for you.”

Jackson settles on Derek’s lap, loving the way Derek wraps his arms around him, pulling him back so that Derek can lightly press a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Why Chicago?”

“There’s a choosing happening in Chicago, and I’m Peter’s advocate.” Cora leans forward, elbows on the table and voice low. “We have a fledgling office in Chicago, temporarily headed by a distant cousin. We’d like Peter to take the office over; he wants a mate. I don’t know if he’ll find someone permanent, but he _will_ gain a child by this, and we gain both more stability in Chicago _and_ a place for Peter where he won’t be angling after every omega he sees. We need to get him settled, and this is the first choosing of any note since the one where you…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to.

Stiles is asking a question, but Jackson can’t focus on it. Peter will be leaving for Chicago, and this is the first Jackson has heard of it, and he is finding out from Cora, not Derek. His eyes close, his hand curled tight into a fist in his lap. _Peter_ was the reason why Derek hadn’t… Jackson’s lips purse in irritation. He’ll confront Derek later. In privacy.

“Do you really want to leave Stiles alone in the apartment?” Derek murmurs, barely a breath against Jackson’s skin. They are words for him alone, and he drinks them in, as if Derek could read his mind.

“No,” he whispers. It’s logical. Maybe more logical than Jackson is capable of being in the eighth month of his pregnancy. He wants to ask about _after_ , when everything is said and done. He wants to know what’s happening next, if Peter moves to Chicago and if Stiles and the baby are safe from Deucalion.

Jackson wants to ask what happens to _them_ , but at the same time, he’s afraid to ask. He’s afraid of showing what it means to him to know the answer.

So he stays silent and lets the conversation go around him, and tries to just _be_ , rather than think at all.

#

“It’s not bad so far.” Derek sits on the edge of the bed, his hand pressed flat against his stomach. “It’s twinges. Like when you pull a muscle, and it keeps spasming.”

“Oh. Good.” Jackson can’t seem to sit still. He knows he should be over by the bed, holding Derek’s hand, but every time Derek winces, Jackson feels phantom pain in his side, in his gut, enough to make him want to double over. Definitely stronger than a spasming muscle. He isn’t going into labor yet, but he can _feel_ it, as if he were. “Keep telling me that. Tell me I’m not going to feel like I’m being ripped apart to get this kid out.”

“You’re going to feel like you’re being ripped apart,” Stiles helpfully supplies. His phone buzzes and he slips it from his pocket, staring at it for a moment before he puts it away again with no response. “If it makes you feel any better, Derek, your uncle is at this very moment closeted away with an omega, so in a few months I’ll make sure to mention this fascinating pain transference to _her_ and we can all watch him suffer. Plus, seems like he’ll definitely be moving to Chicago.”

Derek glares. “Get out, Stiles.”

“Jackson said I should stay.” Stiles pulls the phone back out again. “So did Cora. And unlike him, _she_ is actually an alpha and made me think she means it.”

“Sit down and shut up. Both of you.” Jackson doesn’t meant to snap, but it comes out that way anyway, and he tries to get hold of his temper. Hands curl tight by his sides, then flex wide. He points at a chair behind Stiles. “Go sit down, text Cora back, tell her we don’t actually _care_ about the fact that Peter’s fucking someone right now except for the part where he’s moving to Chicago, and _shut up_.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’re not the one in labor.”

“No, apparently that’s me,” Derek says dryly. There’s a sound as the bed shifts, his hands curling over the edge of the mattress. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Jackson moves quickly, manages to get there to hold wrap his fingers around Derek’s, holding on tight just as Derek groans and doubles over. “Hurts?”

“Now it does. It’s twice as bad as it was. Maybe more.” Derek has his other arm wrapped around his stomach, holding tight. “Oh, _fuck_. How long has it been since this started?”

“One hour. Out of ten.” Stiles smiles. “Just think, Derek. This is only the beginning.”

“He’s torturing me because he can’t do it to Deucalion,” Derek mutters.

“I thought you were doing this for me, not him.”

Derek’s fingers tighten around Jackson’s. “I am. Scared?”

Jackson is all too aware of Stiles sitting in the chair, fingers flying over the virtual keyboard on his phone. Stiles may not be looking, but Jackson knows he’s still listening, and the answer to that question isn’t easy to admit. “Yes,” he finally says. “Terrified.”

The pain in Derek’s face eases, and he manages to drag in a deep breath. He untangles himself from Jackson’s grip so he can frame his face, fingers gentle where they slide along Jackson’s cheekbones. “I’ll be there,” Derek says quietly. “I’ll be with you the entire time, and I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong. And if you feel like you need to hurt me, because it hurts that much, do it. Flay my skin if you want; I’ll heal.”

Jackson feels his heart stutter over the words, recognizing them. Knowing and remembering that they were the first thing he said to Derek, when need was so overwhelming. There isn’t need now, not between them. He keeps trying so hard not to name it, but he has a feeling he can’t avoid it anymore, not when he can see the pain etching lines in Derek’s skin, not when he knows that Derek is trying not to show how much it hurts. Not when Derek is experiencing this in order to support Jackson.

He blinks back unexpected tears. Instead of a response, he leans in, brushes his lips against Derek’s, careful and quiet. And when Derek’s fingers dig in, pressing into his skin, he doesn’t make a sound, simply waits until the synthesized contraction fades again. “You okay?” he murmurs, kissing him again.

“Not really,” Derek says. “But I will be.”

_We will be_. The words aren’t said, but Jackson hears them anyway.

He might almost be starting to believe them.

There’s a low groan from the corner, and Jackson pulls back, glancing at Stiles, who is leveraging himself up from the chair. “No, don’t mind me,” Stiles says. “I’m just… this chair is giving me back pain, and I don’t need the knives being shoved into my kidneys… the kid’s foot is bad enough. So I think… I’m going to go out into the hallway and walk for a bit. I’m sure I’ll be back before the full on screaming starts.”

Jackson nods, but he doesn’t really pay attention as Stiles goes. His mind is too full of words that he can’t quite express, things that he’s afraid to say. He tangles his fingers with Derek’s and leans in to kiss him again, soft and slow, just enough to be a distraction. Time passes, and Jackson doesn’t bother to keep track. Minutes don’t matter. What matters is that he can feel every contraction shudder through Derek’s body.

When Derek nudges him away, Jackson shifts to try to hold him instead. “I don’t want to be touched.” The growl comes through in Derek’s voice, underlining every word. Jackson isn’t sure how long it has been since they started, but Derek’s eyes are flashing now when the contractions come, and there isn’t much time between them. He barely has time to catch his breath before the next one rolls through and Derek groans loudly.

“Okay, what can I do?” Because Jackson feels like he has to do something. He has to come up with some idea and he doesn’t even know what he wants for himself when he gets to this point. “Get up and walk. Deaton said that helps.”

Derek slides off the table, gaining his feet for just a moment before his knees buckle and he goes down, doubled over, clutching at his gut. The cry is sharp and loud, and Jackson wonders if they’re getting close to the end, and if they are, where the hell is Stiles? When the door bursts open, he looks up, relieved to see a doctor. _Any_ doctor. “Is it almost over?”

“Is the omega in the hall yours?” the doctor counters, tone urgent. “He’s collapsed, and if he isn’t, we need to contact his alpha immediately.”

Derek pushes to his feet, Jackson wedged under his shoulder to bear some of the weight. “Get Hancock,” Derek growls. “He’s working with us, and he’s going to stop this experiment now. Jackson, go with…” He makes a noise in lieu of the name of the unknown physician. “Get Stiles settled, make sure he’s okay. _Call Deaton_. He’s with Cora and he needs to get the next flight home. Peter can wait.”

“And Cora?” Because Jackson knows she’ll want to be there.

Derek shakes his head. “She needs to stay with Peter. Call the Sheriff, call security, make sure a protection detail is in place. Make absolutely sure the hospital will not allow Deucalion access.”

“Is the omega _yours_?” the doctor repeats.

“He’s no one’s,” Jackson snaps. “He belongs to himself. We’re his friends, and we’re taking care of him.” He helps Derek make it back to sitting on the table, pressing in so he can kiss him worriedly. “I don’t want to leave you here on your own.”

“Stiles needs help. Call the others. Make sure Stiles is okay.” Derek glares at Jackson, flashing his eyes when he hesitates. “ _Go_.”

Jackson nods once, before trailing as quickly as he can manage after the doctor.

#

Stiles’s labor is disturbingly quick. His water broke before he collapsed, and by the time they get him into a room, he is somehow completely dilated. “I’ve only seen it happen this fast in rare cases when an omega is separated from their bonded alpha,” the doctor murmurs while Stiles is sweating, ready to push, one hand twisted around Jackson’s fingers, and the other side clutching Erica.

“I’m flying solo,” Stiles grits out between his teeth. “Never bonded to the alpha. Don’t need him at all.”

“You’re—” The doctor cuts off when Jackson shakes his head. “Everything’s going to be just fine, but I recommended getting your pack around you as soon as possible after the birth. You’re going to need it to heal. For now— _push._ ”

Jackson can’t be sure what the doctor was about to say, but he doesn’t want anyone telling Stiles that he’s bonded, not now, not when they’re all doing their damnedest to give him the space he needs. He squeezes Stiles’s hand, and bites his lip, trying not to feel the way his bones crack under the strength of Stiles’s grip.

Stiles cries out, and everything blurs into a haze of pain and fear as Stiles pushes and Jackson just tries to hold on and not to internalize the sheer amount of _pain_ involved in the process. When the cry of the newborn baby finally comes, Stiles falls back, sweaty and exhausted. Erica meets Jackson’s gaze across him, and he can see his own fear echoed in her eyes.

“It’ll be us soon,” she says quietly.

“And we’ll all be fine.” It’s the only response Jackson can make, because it has to be true.

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles’s voice is hoarse from the screaming. “What are you doing here, Jackson? Where is he?”

“He’s recovering. He ordered me to be here.” Now that it’s over, guilt slips in, teasing at the edges of his mind. If Derek hadn’t ordered him to be here, Jackson would have left to back to him. Now he can’t think of anything else.

Stiles snorts softly. “And you’re always so good with orders. Go find him. If he feels even half as crappy as I do, he probably needs you. I’ve got Erica, and I’m probably going to have all the others, too, as soon as they let them in.” Jackson can hear voices right outside; Stiles is right, the room is about to get very crowded.

“Derek’s only got you right now,” Stiles has seriously. “So go. Besides, you don’t want to be separated from your bonded alpha.” There are shadows in the way he says the words, and Jackson thinks that no matter how much they’ve tried to keep it from him, Stiles is well aware of his own situation, even if he hasn’t decided what to do about it just yet.

“It’s not…”

“It clearly is, to anyone who looks at you. Don’t screw that up, asshole.”

Jackson smirks. “Fuck you.” Banter with affection, that’s what he’s come to. But he pushes to his feet, takes the hug that Erica offers, and he goes.

He finds Hancock in the hallway and follows directions to the recovery room where Derek is napping. When he slips inside, the room is dark, and he can hear the slow, even breath in slumber. The bed is too narrow for Jackson to climb up, as much as he wants to, so he pulls a chair over and sinks into it, leaning his head against the mattress. After a while, he feels fingers in his hair.

“You’re awake,” Jackson murmurs.

“Mm. Sort of. Stiles?” Derek’s voice is hazy, only half there.

“Healthy baby. I think I heard them say it’s a girl. I’m more worried about you right now.” Jackson pulls Derek’s hand closer, kisses his fingertips. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“Told you to.”

“I didn’t have to listen.” Things happened so fast, and Jackson was worried, but now he can feel the gnawing guilt in his gut. “You were doing this…”

“For you.” Derek’s fingers twist in Jackson’s hair, pulling tightly, yanking him closer. When his eyes open, they flash brightly red before Derek kisses him roughly. “I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I know what you’re going to have to go through, and how it’s going to feel. And I am going to be there with you.”

“I love you.”

They aren’t the words Jackson means to say, not then and there, and from the sharp intake of Derek’s breath, they aren’t the words he expects to hear, either. Jackson huffs a small sigh. Now that it’s out there, he needs to follow through. “I mean it,” he says. “I thought it was just… I thought it was the bond. The pregnancy bond, not an actual bond between us. But it’s not just that; it’s more. It’s not just the baby that’s more comfortable near you, it’s me. I felt pain when you felt pain. And I don’t expect anything more from you. You’re already doing more than enough for me—the money, the school. Working with the Hale lawyers. It’s enough. But you—you’re not a hardship. And if you ever decide you want another kid, I might even be willing to go through this a second time with you.”

He doesn’t know how to read Derek’s expression, eyes a calm hazel now, mouth set in a line that might twitch up into a small smile. Jackson feels like he’s standing here naked, waiting, heart hammering in his chest.

After a long moment, Derek rolls onto his side, inches back on the thin hospital bed. “Come up here.”

Jackson gives the bed a dubious look. “My stomach might need its own bed,” he mutters.

Derek snorts and pulls at him, not stopping until Jackson is lying down with him, Jackson’s back against Derek’s front, Derek’s hand resting possessively against Jackson’s belly. “I’m supposed to stay here until morning,” Derek murmurs against his ear. “To make sure I don’t suffer any ill-effects. I think it’s to make sure I know just how uncomfortable these beds are since you’re stuck in one after you give birth.”

“You think we’re going to be able to sleep like this?” Jackson feels like he should be unstable, worried about falling over the edge, but with Derek’s arm locked around him tightly, he actually feels secure.

“I think I could sleep anywhere with you.” The words end in a sigh and a long, slow breath. “We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, Jackson. Sleep.”

He didn’t think he was tired, but now that he’s lying down, the rest of the day catches up with him swiftly. He feels it stealing into his mind, taking away his coherence. “Like what?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really expect an answer.

“Packing.” Derek kisses the back of his neck. “I’m finally going to take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the actual scene for the prompt that inspired the story in the first place. And hey, here we are, with only one more chapter to go! And there's been a baby born!
> 
> I'm so so SO sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I tried to finish the draft last night, but I was having a really rough time with it. Then today was full of necessary errands (for some reason, getting food for the house is a requirement :) ) and I didn't finish the draft until late. I am flying without an alpha this time, and hopefully I have not contradicted myself too badly.
> 
> I should admit now that the next chapter may be late. I haven't started it yet, other than making a ton of notes for things that need to happen during it. However, I am on vacation in a week, so if it doesn't post on Sunday, it'll post on whatever day I finally finish it, so some time between the 13th and the 20th, it will be up.
> 
> In the meantime, thank you all for being here, and for sticking with the story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you in a week! If you want to find me in the intervening time, come poke me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Descriptions of childbirth from the perspective of the one giving birth.

### Month 9

_~~~ you get me closer to god ~~~_

Jackson barely has time to settle in at Hale House before Erica visits, insisting on checking the place out. Together they explore the house slowly, delving into nooks and crannies, stopping often to rest weary feet and aching backs.

“Walking supposedly induces labor,” Erica muses. “I’m ready for this to be over any time this kid wants to come out.”

“We’ve still got three weeks left,” Jackson points out instead of admitting that he’s _not_ ready. He’s sick of being pregnant, exhausted by everything, but he’s not at all prepared to give birth. “Stiles was early.”

“How’s he doing? I was going to stop in and see him…” Erica’s voice trails off, and she glances around as if he might pop out of the woodwork. “Is he here?”

“Not yet. It’s complicated right now. Even with the restraining order, Stiles can’t just move into another alpha’s house with Deucalion’s baby. We haven’t finished with all the paperwork to get custody settled yet. We’re almost there.” 

Erica knocks her shoulder against Jackson’s. “ _We_ , hm? I’m proud of you, you know, jumping in feet first with the lawyers. When are you going to school?”

“I don’t know yet. Cora found some good potential schools locally, but I still have to interview and apply.” And he has to get past the gut-instinct prejudice they might have about him being an omega, but that doesn’t need to be said. “She said she’ll find me an apartment once I pick a school.” Jackson pushes open the door to the sunroom and holds it for Erica to step inside. They end up in front of the bay window, sitting on the wide padded seat.

“And Derek?”

He shakes his head because he doesn’t have an answer for that. They don’t talk about the future, not in so many words. They talk about Stiles moving into the space where Peter used to live, becoming a part of the Hale pack in his own right, not tied to Cora or Derek. They talk about Jackson spending time with the baby before he goes to school, and about his internship at Hale with the team of lawyers that has already started. They talk about Peter and the Chicago office, and they talk about how Derek someday needs to solidify the New York office as well. They’ve even talked about whether a London office might be feasible and profitable.

What they don’t talk about is themselves.

Jackson leans over, elbows on his thighs, knees spread to give his belly space. He lets his head hang, looking at the floor, and shrugs one shoulder. “I have no idea what’s going on, Erica. Stiles is jealous of what I’ve got, but he has no idea how confusing it is.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure Stiles understands confusing,” Erica deadpans. “He’s friends with an alpha that he’s bonded to, has a kid from another alpha, and he’s walking a line between ignoring the whole matter and managing to fall into the deep end at the same time. I don’t think he has it easy.”

“This is a different kind of confusing,” Jackson tells her. “I love him.” He stops, swallows hard. “Derek, I mean. Of course. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be simple, Erica. Nine months, have a baby, get a good part of my loans paid off while I find a job… then go on with my life.”

“So tell him.” She nudges his knee with her own.

“I did. He moved me in here.” Jackson gives her a wry smile. “Everything else is on hold.”

“It’ll get better.” Erica mimics his pose, her eyes closing for a long moment. “I… I asked Lydia to marry us. To make it all permanent.”

“And?” Jackson groans at the way her expression lights up. “Are you going to make me walk you down the aisle when we’re both _waddling_? Can’t Boyd give you away?”

“Boyd’s _in_ the wedding. He’s my _husband_ ,” Erica reminds him. “You were there for that, remember? Now I need you to reprise your role as best man of honor, because while Stiles is extremely dear to me, _you_ are my best friend. And I can’t do this without you.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Erica grins. “And if I don’t scare you on my own, let me remind you that I have Lydia on my side.”

“I’ll be there.” He catches a sound and pushes to his feet, turning toward the door before it opens again and Derek steps through. “Hey…”

“You’ll be where?” Derek comes in close, palming Jackson’s face before he leans in for a kiss.

“My wedding.” Jackson can hear the laughter in Erica’s voice. “Boyd and I are making it official with Lydia. You’re invited, of course, Derek. Jackson’s my best man of honor, again. We’re going to wait a few months, so everyone should be recovered by then. I’ve already talked to Boyd’s little sister about babysitting.”

“Cora will help,” Derek murmurs against Jackson’s throat, nuzzling him. “We’ll all help. No one has to miss out on the ceremony because we’ve got a bunch of babies.”

“A bunch of alphas caring for the cubs.” Erica snorts. “I have got to see this.”

Jackson can’t see the look Derek gives her, but he does see the way she moves back slightly, eyes wide. “What you’ve seen in the past is alphas posturing,” Derek says calmly. “A _good_ alpha cares for their family and does just as much for them as any other person in it. There is no difference between alpha, beta, and omega when it comes to nurturing.”

Jackson thinks of his parents, and their clearly cut roles. He can’t imagine his father ever being the one to pick him up after skinned knees, or to bounce a baby on his knee and let it spit up on him after being burped.

He can imagine it with Derek, though, and that sends heat into his gut in unexpected ways.

Erica’s gaze flicks from Derek to Jackson. “I’ll send you the details when I have them,” she says, pushing herself to standing. “And right now, I’ll let myself out. You just make sure that I know when Stiles is moving in, because I want to be here to welcome him personally.” She looks at Derek. “Thank you.”

Jackson imagines the arched eyebrow as Derek says, “For what? Adopting a stray who’s going to be good for business? He’s more than welcome here, and his child as well.”

“For giving him a place when you _know_ he may never be anything more for your family than someone who works in security,” Erica says firmly. “Most alphas still see omegas only as breeders, not people.”

“We don’t,” Derek says simply. 

That’s one of the things Jackson loves about him, not only for what it means for how Jackson is treated, but also for how he expects Derek to interact with his family. With their child. He presses back against Derek, slides his hand over the one that is pressed to his belly.

Erica shakes her head. “Right. I’m going. You two… do what you’ll do.”

“Shut up, Erica.” Jackson speaks without heat, and she laughs as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

“She’s not wrong.” Derek buries his nose in Jackson’s throat, teeth grazing along his pulse.

“I do not want to think about Erica acknowledging our sex life.” There is something in the way the words come out that sound more permanent than Jackson means, but he won’t take them back.

“It’s not a secret that we have one,” Derek says dryly. “And anyone with a nose can tell that you want to be fucked.” His hands slide under Jackson’s shirt, rucking it up over his belly, giving Derek space to touch the taut expanse of skin. His voice drops to a murmur against his throat. “And that I want to fuck you. Right here.”

Jackson tilts his head back, claiming a kiss. “We haven’t done it in this room yet. Almost every other one smells like us.” The only places they’ve avoided have been Peter’s rooms—soon to be Stiles’s space—and Cora’s suite, as well as a few of the more public places. It’s as if by claiming Jackson in every room in the house, Derek can make the place smell like pack. Family.

Jackson’s still worried that some day he may be expected to leave, and he doesn’t know if he could. He’s already feeling too entwined in the Hale lives. But he can’t seem to _stop_ , either. He needs Derek like he needs air; his nostrils flare, drinking in his scent and letting it inflame his body.

“Up.” Derek tugs Jackson’s sweats down, then helps him step out of them while moving him to kneel on the window bench. Derek takes one hand, then the other, and places them against the window, so that Jackson is kneeling there, bare ass in the air, his belly hanging heavily. It’s strangely comfortable, if he doesn’t think about the fact that someone could walk by below and look up to see them.

“Are you ready?” Derek draws a finger down the crack of Jackson’s ass, sliding through the slick mess, pressing into his opening. Derek hisses when Jackson whines, pushing two fingers in quickly. “Fuck, yes, you’re ready for me. You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” Slow words match the slow motion of his fingers pushing deep into Jackson, stretching him wide. “I heard they give you something to drink,” he murmurs, a third finger sliding in. “When you’re there for us, that first time. To make you ready. Did Deaton give you something?”

Jackson can barely process the words, can’t form a coherent response. He just nods, remembering the instant warmth of the drink, something that pales in comparison to the way his body gives in to Derek now.

“I bet you don’t even need it.” Derek withdraws, and there’s the sound of skin on skin, and Jackson whines. He wants to be touching him, or to be touched, or to let Derek fuck his mouth. He wants to be _giving_ , not receiving. Derek shouldn’t have to do anything himself, but when Jackson takes one hand from the window, Derek grabs him, putting it back.

“Don’t move,” Derek orders, and Jackson’s knees waver, braced and spread against the padded top of the window seat.

“Please.” His voice is a whine, hips pushing back against the warm air that lies between them. “ _Please_.”

Derek spreads his hands over the curve of Jackson’s hips, fingers sliding into the dip of his hip bones before the swell of Jackson’s stomach. He feels Derek behind him, pressing in close, rutting through the slip and slide of slick fluid in the crack of Jackson’s ass. He begs again with a push of his hips back, and Derek holds him tight, not letting him move.

“I don’t want this to be fast,” Derek murmurs. “I want to fuck you slowly. I want to take you apart until you can’t hold yourself up. I want to feel your legs fail, I want to hold you steady, and I want to fill you once you’ve got nothing left to give.”

Every word sends heat throughout Jackson and he whines, needing more than he’s given, just _wanting_ everything that Derek is willing to give. When Derek finally slides into him, Jackson braces and holds still, loving how _full_ he is. Derek barely moves then, just a little twist and roll of his hips, pushing deeper, almost like when they were knotted together. Jackson can’t remember much of those days all that clearly, but this brings it back now, sends his mind into that same space, where all he wants is to be filled. “More,” he whispers, and Derek responds by pressing close and tilting them both so he can go deeper.

Derek takes Jackson’s dick in his hand, and it isn’t going to take much, just a few strokes before he feels his balls tighten. Derek pulls him back, taking his weight so that Jackson shoots against the window in thick white stripes. “Again,” Derek whispers, twitching his hips, reaching down to roll Jackson’s balls in his palm until Jackson cries out from the sensation, cock still achingly hard. He can’t resist, not when Derek’s teeth close over the tender spot where neck meets shoulder. Derek sucks a bruise and and Jackson thrusts into the air, waiting for the circle of Derek’s fingers to close around him and pull.

“ _Again_ ,” Derek orders, and Jackson groans, his body struggling to comply. He can feel it building, feel the way his entire body shakes from the effort.

“Fuck me,” he begs, as he twists his head to the side, baring his throat.

Derek wraps one arm around Jackson above the curve his belly, anchoring him while he pulls him off, hips finally, _finally_ moving with sharp thrusts, pushing into him until Jackson sways between Derek and his hand. He loses himself in the rhythm, feeling sensation build. When Derek’s teeth find his shoulder, Jackson cries out, dick spurting while the world goes grey. He dimly feels the stutter of Derek’s hips, and hears the low grown before Derek spills inside of him.

The world comes back into focus slowly, and by the time it does, Derek is sitting on the window seat, Jackson curled on his lap, limp against him.

“You are such a good omega,” Derek whispers against his skin, kissing his shoulder against the bruise he made. “A perfect partner.” The words disappear, barely audible in the air between them, and Derek goes still when Jackson shifts slightly. One hand slides down Jackson’s arm, stroking soothingly. “Are you okay?”

Jackson nods. “Shaky, but fine. It gets harder the bigger I am.”

Derek slides a hand over Jackson’s belly, pausing when the child rolls and pushes against his touch. “I like seeing you pregnant,” he says softly. “But it won’t be much longer now, will it?”

Jackson shrugs one shoulder. “A few weeks.” He hears sound in the distance, and they both go silent.

“Cora,” Derek says finally. “Which means Peter’s here to get his things packed up and moved.” He spills Jackson from his lap as he stands, making sure he is steady on his feet by wrapping both arms around him and pulling him in for a slow kiss. “I’ll keep them downstairs. You go get cleaned up.”

“And this mess?” Because the window seat is a complete mess, and the window itself is worse.

“That’s what the cleaning staff is for.” Derek offers a rueful smile. “We learned as kids that if the cleaning staff was hard at work, that was a room we wanted nothing to do with. But it meant Mom and Dad were in good moods.” He kisses Jackson one more time. “Don’t you have paperwork for Cora?”

“Send her to the office and I’ll meet her there.” His stomach growls and Jackson makes a face. “Bring food. I’m hungry. _Again_.” It seems like a never-ending attempt to fill a bottomless void at this stage of his pregnancy.

“I’ll tell her.”

Jackson waits until Derek is gone, listening for the sound of footsteps heading down the stairs in a run and jump pattern that Jackson has come to associate with Derek in a good mood. He still doesn’t know where he stands with him, but he knows that they both seem _good_ together, and possibly even happy. Jackson doesn’t want to ruin it by bringing up the future.

#

Jackson’s back aches. He presses his fingertips into the small of his back, feeling the ridge of his spine as he arches, trying to undo the kinks created by carrying this child. He twists side to side, stopping only when he realizes that Cora and Stiles have gone silent.

“Problem?” Stiles asks.

“Just because some of us have already forgotten what it’s like to be pregnant,” Jackson bites out, then closes his mouth quickly because Stiles doesn’t deserve anger like that. “How is she?”

“Olivia,” Stiles reminds him. “And she’s the subject of this contract that you’ve been working your ass off for and now you’re not even paying attention. I know it’s between Cora and me, but you’re our official counsel.”

“I’m not a lawyer.”

“You’re neutral,” Cora says. “We don’t need a lawyer for this, we need someone who actually gives a shit about both of us, but can handle the language and will see any issues in a neutral manner.”

Jackson shifts his stance again, placing both hands on the table and letting his body fall into the space between. As soon as the child rolls, he feels the weight lift from his spine and he can breathe again. He closes his eyes, inhaling and exhaling once before he straightens up. “I’m fine. Where were we?”

Cora flips open the packet of papers to the summary sheet at the end. “You’re answering questions if Stiles has them, and he’s reading the fine print unless he trusts you.”

Stiles stands there with his arms crossed, as still as Jackson can ever remember him being. “I trust him. Tell it to me in your words, Jackson.”

“Olivia Meredith Stilinski is officially a ward of the Hales,” Jackson says. “After much wrangling, Deucalion has given up all legal claim to the child, and his name is scrubbed from the birth records. She is purely a Stilinski, although there is a clause that says she can choose to change her name to Hale after her 18th birthday, if she so desires.” He glances at Stiles, waits for the nod to go on. “There’s a place for you to initial for that. The Hale family will pay for her every need, as well as for the needs of her father, as long as both Hale and Stilinski remain in agreement over the arrangement. Stilinski will have a place in the Hale business, as denoted in section 8.”

Stiles waves one hand. “I’m already well aware of that part; we don’t need to get into details.”

Jackson nods. “If at any time, abuse or neglect is noted by either party, the contract will be considered immediately dissolved. If abuse is done by the Hales to the Stilinskis, the Stilinskis are free to leave. If any abuse is perpetuated by Stilinski to the ward of the Hales, he will lose all rights to the child who will become a Hale in full.”

It’s a clause that both Cora and Stiles asked for, after what he went through with Deucalion. Cora, because she wants Stiles to feel perfectly safe and in control, and Stiles because he never wants what happened to him to happen to Olivia. Jackson gives them a moment to absorb that, then adds, “The Hale family will protect both Olivia Meredith and…” He pauses, because he still hasn’t figured out how to pronounce the mouthful that is Stiles’s legal name.

Stiles smirks slightly. “Just say Stiles and leave the pompous naming out of it. We all know who you mean.”

“…Will protect both Olivia and Stiles to the best of their ability, and if they fail to do so or refuse to do so, this contract may be terminated,” Jackson says. “Stilinski is under no obligations to the Hale family other than his continued employment and allowing his child to be raised with the Hale children. If Stilinski chooses in the future to pursue an alpha outside of the Hale family, the contract will be renegotiated then.”

Stiles presses his lips thinly together. “Fair enough. If she already thinks this is family, it wouldn’t be right to take her away.”

“We’re not going to send you away,” Cora says quietly. “You’re going to be a part of this family, too. And you’ll be safe here.”

“Deucalion’s not a threat anymore.” Stiles picks up the pen on the table, fiddling with it for a moment before he settles it into his hand. He signs the contract quickly, initialing when Jackson points to two spaces where it needs to be done. “Yes, he physically _could_ come near me, but enough safeguards have been put in place that if he were to try, it would damage his reputation so badly that he won’t even think about it. He can’t even send any of his pack after me without someone knowing. So thank you for that. I’m more worried about Peter than I am Deucalion these days.” He smiles thinly. “I know you didn’t say it, but I did read the contract. I know there’s a part in there about how I have the option to work with any Hale alpha as their omega if I wish.”

“That’s not about Peter,” Cora says, and the look Stiles gives her is completely bland in response.

“Did I hear my name?” The door pushes open and Peter comes in. Jackson feels pain slice across his body and he takes a step back, aware that Stiles has done the same, and they now stand shoulder to shoulder, the table between them and the eldest Hale.

“We were only saying the worst of you,” Cora deadpans. “I’m surprised to see you alone.”

“The twins were tired from the trip, so Amaranth is settling them into the guest room. Derek said you were up here.” He glances down, gaze lingering on the contract. “So are you now our chief legal counsel, Jackson? I wasn’t aware you had your degree or had passed the bar.”

“I’ll be signing in front of legal.” Cora picks up the contract, rolling it up and tucking it into her back pocket. “Jackson’s interning with them, and this is good practice. He’s been instrumental in dealing with Deucalion.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Peter’s regard makes Jackson feel vaguely ill inside, the way his gaze rakes over Jackson, seeming to take him apart and put him back together. He takes another step towards Stiles, trying to ignore how Peter’s smirk twists.

“The mutt is afraid of me,” Peter drawls. “How cute. And I honestly never could have foreseen this, that we’d have _both_ Whittemore and Stilinski under our roof as pet omegas.”

“I’m not a mutt,” Jackson snaps, just as Stiles snaps that he’s not a _pet_.

“No one is a pet.” The woman who comes in doesn’t look like anything special, but Peter’s attention shifts to her immediately. His arm lifts and she slots herself close, her hand at his waist. “You don’t consider me a pet, do you?” When she tilts her face up, Jackson can see a spray of freckles across her nose and the way her eyes flash briefly before Peter bends to kiss her.

“The twins?” Peter murmurs.

“Asleep. I couldn’t convince them to take separate beds.” She shrugs. “Someday they’ll be individuals. For now, they seem determined to share a life. My brothers were the same for a long time. Are you going to introduce me?”

When Peter turns back to face them, Jackson can’t get over the way his expression has _changed_. The sharp lines are now soft, the edges gentle. “Amaranth, this is Jackson, Derek’s…” The hesitation seems almost delicate before Peter decides on a word. “Derek’s omega. And Stiles, who will be living with us; his child is our ward.”

“My ward,” Cora corrects, tone idle. “You’ll be in Chicago. And Stiles would like you to pack your shit and get it out so he can move in.”

“I can speak for myself.”

“I know.” Cora grins sharply. “I just like giving Peter shit. Don’t deny me the opportunity.”

“Oh, if that’s what it is, by all means, continue.” Stiles waves his hand. “Please.”

The tension in the room is lighter, but the sick feeling in Jackson’s gut intensifies. It twists around him, wrapping from his spine to his belly button and _squeezing_ until he can’t breathe. He tries to, in tiny shallow breaths, begging for the air to come in. When it does, the conversation has changed around him, as if they didn’t even notice his pain.

“Saturday,” Stiles says. “I’ve got the apartment to myself right now, since Jackson is here and Scott’s with Allison and Isaac. But I’d rather be somewhere that I can have some backup with Olivia.”

“Isn’t anyone still staying with you?” Peter’s brow furrows. “We can’t possibly be that negligent.”

“My dad is.” Stiles slides into the details of Deucalion’s case, and Jackson tunes them out as another pain slices across him.

Labor.

It has to be labor.

But it can’t be. Not yet. He still has three weeks to go and too much to do and there are things that haven’t been said yet. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing after the baby is born, and where he’ll be living. Cora was looking at apartments for school, which means Derek wants him to move out… but what about the baby? Breath shudders in his chest and he leans on the table, head down, until the pain passes.

Peter and Amaranth are gone by the time he looks up.

“He’s _besotted_ ,” Cora says. “And she has him wrapped around not just her little finger, but wound around her entire palm, I think. She says jump and he jumps. Plus, he adores the twins, and I think it’s a match made in heaven. You’ll probably be drawing up a revised contract for them soon, too, Jackson. If everything goes well, he’ll want to adopt them as Hales.”

Jackson nods. “We can use the contract for Olivia as a template,” he says, proud of himself for how even his voice is.

“Dude, you’re looking a little green,” Stiles says.

Jackson lifts one hand. “I’m fine. I’m just going to go outside for a bit and walk around. See if it helps my back.”

“Do you want…” Cora stops when he glares at her. “I’ll let Derek know where you are,” she says instead, and he knows it’s not an option.

He doesn’t really care.

He just wants the pain to stop, because it’s too soon and he’s not ready. He needs more time. He’s supposed to _have_ more time. And right now it feels like if he can escape the pack, he can escape the truth, too, and keep it at bay just a little bit longer.

#

It doesn’t stop, not completely, but the pains slow to an irregular pattern, like a heart beating out of sync. Jackson keeps walking until he can breathe again, until the edges of panic are pushed away and he can manage to think. After a time, he spots the twins in the distance with Peter and Amaranth; two young boys playing and laughing, and Peter laughing with them. It’s not a way Jackson ever expected to see him, and he is relieved that Peter has found something to hold onto. And that she is in Chicago, because he’s not sure Peter will ever _not_ make his skin crawl.

“Jackson.”

He stops as soon as he sees Derek, catches his scent on the air. His entire body reacts, tensing up then relaxing at the touch, swaying in close to Derek, head tilted, ready for a kiss. Derek brushes lips across his eyebrows, then his nose, and finally his mouth, and Jackson falls into the taste of him, needing him more than ever.

Jackson doesn’t care who else might be outside, or where they are. He doesn’t care that they are standing in the middle of the gardens. He lets one hand slide over Derek’s shoulder, cradling his head, holding him so that Jackson can kiss him again and again, more firmly each time. He whines when Derek pulls away, relaxing as soon as Derek grips his hands, pulls them high over his head, pushes him back against a tree. His belly is in the way, but Jackson doesn’t care, wanting Derek closer, not wanting the taste of him to end.

He isn’t prepared for the pain to come back, isn’t prepared for the way it cuts across his belly like a kick to the nuts and folds him in half. He yanks his hands free from Derek’s grasp, coming down to clutch his gut as he goes to his knees. “Fuck.”

“Jackson?” Derek follows him down, cradling his face, trying to look in his eyes. “Jackson, what’s wrong?”

“Baby.” He wants to say more, but that’s all he can manage before the pain comes again and he cries out, rocking around his aching body. There is a gush of wet and he realizes what it is, that his water has broken.

There is nothing he can do, the baby is coming.

“Now,” he whispers.

Derek lifts him carefully, cradled in his arms, holding him close. He carries Jackson into the house quickly, yelling for Cora, Deaton, _anyone_. Jackson can’t say anything more, the pain overwhelming until it retreats and he can finally breathe again. “How bad is it?” Derek asks him.

“Sometimes bad, sometimes not,” Jackson forces the words out. “Water broke. I don’t know. I just… I don’t know.” He can feel another wave of it coming, and he whines his frustration.

“I’ve got you.” There are shouts in the distance as Derek carries him through the house and out the front door. Someone’s car, and Derek with Jackson in the back seat… he’s not sure of the details, and he doesn’t care. He simple clings to Derek and tries to ride out the pain.

#

He is settled somewhere soft… hard… he isn’t sure what he thinks. A bed, he supposes. He smells antiseptic, chemicals, and the sweet scent of something he doesn’t recognize. A straw between his lips, and a murmured order to _drink_. He resists, turning his head, not liking the way the scent chokes him, clinging to his lungs when he inhales. A hand at his back, low and warm, and another voice this time. _Drink_. It shivers through him and he can’t resist, sucking in the sweet liquid, coughing on the bitter aftertaste.

“What is it?”

“Something to help with the anxiety.”

Anxiety.

Jackson laughs, the sound loud to his ears. He’s not _nervous_. He’s _terrified_.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise, it’s going to be okay.” Words are matched with soothing touch, helping undress him, drape him in a scratchy hospital gown.

He wants to believe, but he can’t. He just can’t.

#

He blinks his eyes open and the world has changed. Deaton stands before him, too close, one hand right there by his nose. “How many fingers do I have up, Jackson?”

“Three.” He blinks again, tries to focus. There are blurs at the edge of his vision and he isn’t sure that’s the right answer. He reaches out, grips the hand and feels it, trying to match touch to visual. “Two,” he says, positive that’s correct.

“Should this be happening?”

“I was afraid of this. He is dissociating, but we need him present in order for the child to be born. Otherwise our only option is surgery.”

“No scars.” Jackson is sure of that at least. “Don’t cut me open.”

“Then I need you to stay awake,” Derek says. Fingers tangle tightly with Jackson, holding on, giving him an anchor. “I can’t do this without you, Jackson. You need to get our baby out.”

Derek’s voice shivers and Jackson leans towards him. “I love you,” Jackson murmurs. “Even though you did this to me.”

“He’s almost fully dilated. He can rest until then.”

Jackson tilts his head back, looking at Derek. “How long has it been?”

“Four hours,” Derek tells him quietly. “You’ve been in and out.”

“Where are…” Jackson struggles with words, knowing who he means to ask after, but not able to find their names.

“Waiting room. If you were more coherent, they’d be in here. Erica’s worried about you.”

“I’m worried about me,” Jackson admits, too tired to try to lie.

“Don’t be.” Derek smoothes his hair back. “Don’t be. I’m not going to let you go anywhere. Do you want to close your eyes again?”

“Mmph.” Jackson goes back into the darkness, holding on to Derek to keep from being swept away. “I want Erica and Stiles here when I push. I had to be there for Stiles.” It makes sense somewhere in the back of his mind that this is how it works.

“I’ll make sure Deaton lets them in.”

“And you’re not leaving.” It’s important to Jackson that Derek knows that he _needs_ him. Most of all, out of everyone, he needs Derek there with him.

“I’m staying right here. Now rest.”

#

It hurts so much that he wants to escape back into sleep. Jackson screams, clenching his hands so tightly that he swears he hears bones pop and crack but neither person that he’s holding on to makes a sound. Derek is behind him, holding him up, cradling him while his body bows, arching then bending with the pain of trying to push this child into the world.

“Jackson, I need you to push.” Deaton’s calm voice infuriates him, and if he weren’t held down, Jackson would lash out.

“I’m _done_.” He’s got nothing left. He’s exhausted, sweaty, and every breath hurts. He just wants to lie down, cradled in Derek’s arms, and let go again.

“You’re almost there.” The words are a whisper against his cheek, a gentle kiss behind his ear. They are barely a breath, soft enough that only Jackson will hear them. “You are strong enough, _good_ enough for this. For our child.”

“I’m never letting you do this to me again,” Jackson mutters, and he feels the rumble of laughter against his back. He feels the pain coming like a wave, watches it crash over him and when he screams he hunches over his belly, pushing for all he’s worth.

He hears the first thin cry; Deaton calls for one more push and Jackson manages that before he lets Derek catch him and carry his weight down to the bed.

#

“…And we’ll get you named once your daddy is awake. We probably should have discussed that beforehand, but we both thought there would be more time. But no, you were impatient and had to arrive before we were ready for you.”

Jackson lets the soft words wash over him for a moment while he gets his bearings. He inhales, wanting to know who else might be there, but he finds only Derek and the fresh, new scent of their child, both of them mixed together. The baby seems small and nervous, heartbeat rapid and slightly anxious. Maybe hungry.

“You’re ready,” Jackson says, his voice hoarse and throat rough with pain. “The nursery’s together. You’ll take time off.”

“And you’ve got time before school begins,” Derek replies, voice still low. Jackson hears hesitation in it, and he looks over at Derek, trying to read his expression. “We have everything ready for him physically… but emotionally?”

Jackson swallows hard, trying to fight the urge to drop his gaze. “Not ready at all. It’s a boy?”

Derek grins, teeth sharp and eyes bright. “It’s a boy. We have a son.”

They manage to rearrange themselves on the slim hospital bed, and Derek places the small, squirming bundle in Jackson’s arms before he lies down next to him, propped up on one elbow. Jackson’s gaze falls to meet the hazel eyes of their son, and he knows that he can’t leave this child behind. This plan is impossible. “I can’t do this.”

Derek’s fingers drift over their son’s head, touching eyebrows and nose. “Can’t do what?”

“Just walk away and give him to you. I thought I could.” Jackson shakes his head. “It sounded so _easy_. Get pregnant, get paid, get rid of some of my debt… find a job… give you the baby and then go and I _can’t_. I didn’t think I’d…”

“Didn’t think you’d what?”

Jackson stares at their son, trying to see them in his features, but all he sees is red skin and squished up eyes as the baby waves his hands slightly. Jackson swallows hard. “Fall in love with you. With him. Get _involved_. I don’t know how I can work for you and see you and not…” For all that he’s always been able to express himself, it is suddenly impossible. There are no words for this, not now.

“What makes you think you’re going to leave?” Derek’s tone is dry, but Jackson can scent the fear in his words. He pulls the baby closer, looking over at him. Derek sits up, brows furrowing, expression sour. “Was that the plan all along? That you’re just going to take everything and _go_? I thought you moved in for a _reason_.”

“If that was a declaration, it failed at being specific,” Jackson tells him. He tries to keep his tone even but his words are sharp, biting. “What are we _doing_ here?”

“Becoming a family.” One hand covers Jackson’s against their child, the other cups his face as Derek speaks. “I didn’t think we needed another contract, I thought you understood. You’re living in my house, you’re working with me, you’ve had my child. I want you to have other children, when you’re ready and less likely to kill me over the childbirth. I want you to be my partner.”

As declarations go… that could work for Jackson. “It’s not a proposal,” he raises one eyebrow.

“Do you need a proposal?”

“Maybe someday. I have to survive Erica’s second wedding first.”

“After that, Scott’s getting married in six months,” Derek tells him. “We’ll let everyone else get it out of their system first.”

“We could elope if the mood strikes us. Maybe after law school,” Jackson muses. “We are not thinking about children again until after law school.”

“I didn’t think we were.” Derek nudges a kiss. “We have time to work out the details. All that matters right now is that you’re not leaving us.”

“And that we need to name our son.” Jackson looks down at the infant now sleeping in his arms. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Your father’s name was Edison.” Derek smiles slightly at Jackson’s shock. “I was saving it for a surprise. You managed to surprise me first with this. I’ve got the details about your family for you, when you’re home.”

It’s almost too much for Jackson to deal with, and he puts it away for later. “And your father’s name?” Because if they’re going to start naming kids after parents, they should hit both at the same time.

“Daniel.”

Jackson tries variations out in his mind, musing over it for a moment before he says quietly, “Daniel Edison Hale. If that’s acceptable to you?”

“It’s good.” Derek slides his hands under the infant, slipping him away from Jackson. “Let me get him settled, since he’s sleeping. He’ll be hungry as soon as he wakes, and I’d like to have a little time with you first.” It takes a moment to settle Daniel, the boy snuffling as soon as he feels the lack of warmth in the bassinet, but he doesn’t wake and Derek soon slides back onto the bed, next to Jackson.

Jackson makes space for him, sinking back into him as Derek lies down and wraps himself around Jackson. “I’m still tired,” Jackson tells him.

“Deaton’s concerned for your health, so you’ll be staying an extra day or two. For observation. It’s been a rough twenty-four hours,” Derek replies. Jackson loves the way Derek’s words whisper against the back of his neck, soft and warm.

“Has it been that long?”

“The fact that you missed it is why Deaton’s concerned.”

Jackson can understand that, and he’s honestly not sure he wants most of that time back. He has the important parts, remembering that Derek was there with him, and knowing that his friends were there as well in the end. He yawns and scrunches down into the mattress. “I want to see everyone when I wake up again. Text them,” he orders, making a face when Derek laughs at him.

“They’ll be here,” Derek says. “Don’t worry, Jackson. We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

“I love you.”

Derek’s breath hisses softly, and the words whisper against the shell of Jackson’s ear. “I love you, too.”

 

### Epilogue

_~~~ you are the reason I stay alive ~~~_

“Do you know what the problem is with a ten month old that knows how to walk?” Stiles’s voice rings loudly in Jackson’s ear through the headset, and he can easily imagine the hand gestures that go with the conversation. “She still doesn’t understand the word _no_.”

“Stiles, _you_ don’t understand the word no,” Jackson points out. He pulls the car to a stop in the driveway and puts it in park, glancing in the mirror to check on Daniel only to find him sleeping happily in the car seat. “How do you expect Olivia to actually understand it if you don’t?”

“I understand it! I just don’t choose to pay attention to it. There’s a difference.”

Jackson snorts, because he suspects Olivia’s temperament matches her father’s and that Stiles is in for a wild ride with that one. Not that it’s all _that_ funny since they all live in the same house, and Daniel’s under the impression that anything Olivia can do, he should do immediately as well. The next few years are probably going to be hell.

“Hey, how’d your appointment go?”

“Interview,” Jackson corrects idly. “And it went better than the last three.” Anything would go better than the last three admissions interviews, all of which put him out immediately on the basis that he was an omega, and therefore not reliable. “I’ll be starting classes in the fall.”

“Dude, that’s great! You must be excited.”

“I am. And I’m not.” It’s going to mean less time with Daniel, and Jackson doesn’t like that part of it. He didn’t mean to become a housebound omega, and he still wants to _do_ something, but at the same time he treasures his time with his son. “I’ll be cutting back on my internship hours except on vacations.”

“Not like you have to work for a living,” Stiles points out.

“Not like you do, either.” The words slip out before he thinks about it, and Jackson hears the silence as he references the elephant in the room. He lets it stretch out before he finally says, “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. And you’re right, I know. But I like my job.”

“I like mine.”

They’re still avoiding it, the part of the conversation where they discuss Stiles’s situation and how he’s carefully kept himself in limbo. Jackson doesn’t want to push, but he’s curious, so he waits through the fresh silence to see if Stiles will talk, or if he’ll change the subject again.

Stiles does start talking, but it’s about work, about the projects he’s working on, and the special security that he’s been doing for Cora, setting up new firewalls and protecting specific data. Jackson lets it wash over him because he doesn’t understand the details any more than he understands when Erica starts talking about different flour blends and what frosting goes best with which cupcakes. But they’re his friends, and he listens, and he’s mastered the art of following just enough to be able to respond with some intelligence.

He notices when Stiles peters out, voice trailing off mid-sentence. “What is it?” Jackson asks.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Stiles says quietly. “I know. About her, and about me. I talked to Deaton, and I had him test it. The bond’s a lot stronger than I gave it credit for. Working together helps, and I can smell her all over the house. But I’m just having trouble taking that extra step. I don’t know if I can _trust_ her. Trust that the bond is enough.”

“After Deucalion,” Jackson says, and he imagines the nod in return. “Cora’s not like Deucalion.”

Stiles laughs. “Dude, I know. She’s amazing, actually. I’m just taking it slow. But don’t think I’m an idiot just because we don’t talk about it. I get enough of that shit from Erica when she wants me to talk through my feelings.”

“Did I ask?”

“You didn’t have to. I know what you’re thinking.” Stiles huffs a sigh. “It’ll all work out. It’s not like she’s going on without me, and it’s not like I’m going anywhere. We’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.”

“Have you told her that you’re working on it?” Because Jackson sees the uncertainty in Cora’s expressions sometimes when she looks at Stiles, and can smell the longing.

“Of course not, that’s how we flirt. I’m an asshole, she’s one right back.” There’s a cry in the background, then a clear, childish _uh-oh_. “Oh, crap, I’ve got to go. I don’t know what Olivia just got into but I’m still at work and she’s in my office so it can’t be good.”

The line goes dead before Jackson even gets the chance to say goodbye. He twists in the seat to look back at Daniel. “I guess it’s time to disturb you, buddy,” he says quietly. It takes some effort to get his backpack on, the baby’s bag over his shoulder, and then wrest the car seat out of the base all without waking the sleeping child. He makes his way inside, relieved to see Derek coming down the steps to greet him and take Daniel.

Derek takes Daniel’s car seat first, then lightly kisses Jackson.The one touch sends heat through him, and Jackson can’t resist reaching out, bridging the distance between them so he can palm the nape of Derek’s neck, pulling him back for another, harder kiss.

“You’re in a good mood,” Derek murmurs.

“For one, I start classes in the fall, including arrangements to work from home as needed.” Jackson drops his backpack and the baby’s bag as soon as they get in the door and arches, rolling his shoulders. “For two… I saw Deaton today.”

Derek’s brow furrows as he turns back to look at Jackson. “Is everything okay? Was it for you or Daniel?”

Jackson just shakes his head and plants his hands on Derek’s back, nudging him toward the stairs. “Let’s get Daniel settled. I think he’ll be out for another hour at least, and I want him in the room with the monitor.” He’s not going to worry about trying to get Daniel out of the car seat; he’s comfortable, warm, and he’ll be fine napping there with it set in his crib for a little while longer. They manage to get him settled, then Jackson takes Derek’s shoulders again and pushes him toward their room, waiting until the door closes behind them.

Derek’s nostrils flare. “You want something?” He smirks, eyes flashing at Jackson.

“Strip.” Jackson already has his own shirt unbuttoned and is shrugging it off, tossing it into one corner. “And get on the bed.”

Derek skins his own shirt over his head and sits on the edge of the bed, but he doesn’t go further than that. His pupils are blown, reacting to the scent that Jackson is throwing off. Jackson’s own body is dripping wet, open and ready, and he needs this now.

Jackson slides to his knees, slotting himself between Derek’s legs, toying with the fly of his jeans.

“You said you wanted to talk, so I came home early.” Derek’s voice is hoarse. “Tell me about school.”

Jackson nuzzles the inside of Derek’s thigh, the denim rough against his cheek. “I’ll be the fifth omega at this school, and they fully intend to build a reputation based on bringing out the highest-powered non-traditional lawyers.” His voice is low. “I met the first one to graduate; she’s good, and she has three kids with her alpha, all born while she attended. She graduated with high honors, and she’s paved the way. I plan to graduate with highest honors. First in class.”

“And you told them that.” Derek’s laugh is rough when Jackson nods, because of course he did.

“They have arrangements in place for remote course viewing and test-taking. They encourage study groups, and if there are issues working with alphas, they will provide lists of betas and other omegas. There’s one other starting with me in the fall, and they expect more.” Jackson picks the button free, then nudges the zipper down, hand sliding inside to press flat against the bulge of Derek’s dick. “I can get pregnant.”

“You don’t have to wait until you’re done. It won’t interfere,” Derek says.

“Exactly. I think we are already more than aware that being pregnant doesn’t affect my cognitive ability or my technique when it comes to working through legal issues.” Jackson manages to get Derek’s underwear down, pulling his cock out so he can touch his tongue to the tip, lapping up the drip of sticky fluid. “So I went to see Deaton.”

“Are you saying…” Derek’s voice catches, tripping on the words and breaking off before he can finish.

Jackson looks up at him. “It’s been getting harder not to just roll over for you every moment,” he says quietly. “I was wondering, and yes… I’m fertile again. It’s why I’ve been avoiding you for the last week, because I suspected, and I wanted to get the interview done first. And it’s going to last another month… so if you don’t want more kids, we can’t have sex. We can’t even sleep in the same bed, because I don’t think I can stop myself. I want you. I _need_ you. But I’m not going to force you.”

He sits back on his heels, letting go of Derek, and meets his gaze. “If you don’t want more kids yet, I’ll blow you right now because I’m not a tease, and I’ll go get myself off in the shower. But if you do want more… I want you to fuck me so hard that you have to call in for the next few days.”

Derek exhales in a ragged breath. “Fuck. _Yes_. If you’re ready… I didn’t think you’d want to, that you’d be ready to go through it again. I didn’t think you’d… _yes_. If you want to, _yes_.”

Derek reaches for him and Jackson finds himself on his back, flipped onto the bed, Derek dragging his pants off of him, underwear going with them. Jackson laughs and reaches for his pocket, gripping the waistband tightly and getting his phone out before Derek can take the pants away completely. “I just need to do one thing,” he says, because he remembers how this goes. He _knows_ they may not emerge from here for days now, and he holds up the phone and says, “Daniel.”

Derek pauses, pupils blown wide, nostrils flaring as he growls softly.

“I’ve made arrangements,” Jackson says, brandishing the phone. He taps in only three words— _he said yes_ —and sends it to Cora and Erica, then he drops the phone on the nightstand. He doesn’t care any more about the outside world; he knows their friends and family will be there to take care of their son and make sure they get food occasionally.

“Now I’m all yours,” Jackson tells him.

Derek finishes pulling Jackson’s clothes off, and Jackson realizes that Derek has somehow stripped already as well. When Derek stretches out over him, they are skin to skin, heat to heat. Jackson lifts his hips, whining softly as their erections rub against each other. He tilts, trying to encourage Derek, stopping only when a hand on his hip presses him down.

“We’re going to start slowly,” Derek whispers. “Because I want to see you when I fuck you, before I have to flip you over to knot you. I want you to come until you’re shaking, until you don’t think you have anything left for me. I want you to give me everything, Jackson.”

“Yes,” he replies, because he can’t even think about saying anything else.

Derek starts with his mouth, kissing the corners of his lips, teasing along the seam of his mouth until Jackson opens up to let him in. He strokes with his tongue, matching the motion of his hand over their dicks; Derek holds them wrapped tightly in his long fingers, squeezing at the base before stroking to the tip, spreading wetness along their lengths. “Come for me,” Derek murmurs, his mouth moving along Jackson’s jaw, each nip getting sharper until Jackson inhales roughly, twisting, baring his throat.

“More,” Jackson begs, and Derek’s hand moves faster, hips move faster, fucking them both together as he bites down hard into Jackson’s shoulder. It’s the pain that tips him over, and his orgasm rolls through him, spurting over his chest, leaving Derek’s hand sticky and wet. The sound in his throat is pained and hungry, needing more. “Fuck me, Derek. _Please_.”

“Not yet.” Not with his cock. Jackson knows it’s thick and ready; he can feel it pressed against his hip where Derek ruts idly, pushing against him. Instead, Derek shoves three fingers into him, twisting them roughly, fucking him open. “I’m not done with you,” Derek murmurs. “I’m going to suck you raw. Sit up.”

Jackson struggles, body aching already, but Derek helps nudge him into position until he is leaning against the wall, looking down as Derek kneels between his legs.

“I know how much you love to suck me,” Derek says. “But this time is for you.” He still has three fingers buried inside of Jackson, twisting and thrusting into him. Jackson is hard, aching, hot compared to the cool, wet cavern of Derek’s mouth. His tongue presses to the underside of Jackson’s dick, laving from root to tip, swirling around the head. Jackson can’t help it, reaching out to tangle his hands in Derek’s hair, holding him there while his hips fuck up, pressing into his alpha’s mouth.

He hesitates when he feels resistance, watches Derek carefully. When Derek nods, Jackson reads the trust in his eyes, and he tentatively tilts his hips, watching again as Derek takes him in.

His alpha is on his knees, sucking him off, and Jackson has never seen anything more gorgeous. Jackson tightens his hold, twisting his fingers in Derek’s hair, loving the sound he makes when he growls. When he pulls Derek in closer, fucking deep into his mouth, Derek opens for him, letting him take advantage and that… _oh fuck_. Jackson can’t resist. He whines a question, and Derek growls an answer, and Jackson just _lets go_. He holds Derek in place, watching as Jackson fucks his mouth, hips moving hard, stroking as deep as he can go.

Derek never stops watching him in return, _letting_ him have this, fingers twisting inside of him and pushing deep until Jackson feels his balls tighten. He can’t stop; there’s no way he can stop now, hips pistoning rapidly until he tenses, gripping Derek tightly as he spills down his throat.

He can taste himself on Derek’s lips when he kisses him, when he pushes his tongue inside Jackson’s mouth, fucking him with it. He whines, and Derek finally obliges, pressing into him slowly, pushing one leg up to give him more access, to open him wide. Derek is already thick, but it’s not a knot yet, not quite. It’s still more than Jackson is used to now, and it burns in perfect and unexpected ways.

“Please…”

“Not yet.” Derek sets a slow pace, meeting Jackson’s gaze, locking with him as he fucks him slowly, stroking in and out, waiting for Jackson’s prick to come back to life. “What do you give me?”

The words don’t make sense, because what does Jackson have to give except for himself? And he’s already given that to Derek, so many times by now. “All of me,” he whispers. “I’m yours. All of me is yours.”

Derek pushes deep, holding himself still as he howls, and from somewhere in the house Jackson hears answering yips, knows that others are there. They won’t be disturbed, he’s sure of that. “Now?” he begs.

“Now,” Derek growls. He pulls out and flips Jackson over, lifting his ass into the air. There is no time to ready himself before Derek thrusts inside of him, pushing hard. Derek wraps a hand around Jackson’s dick, slick and rough all at once as he pulls on it. Hard and fast, matching his strokes, squeezing as his knot grows to an almost unbearable size. It hurts the way it stretches Jackson, but at the same time, he loves it, loves the way it feels to be possessed so thoroughly. He whines, pushing back against the thickness, then thrusting into the tight circle of Derek’s hand.

“Come for me one more time,” Derek urges him, leaving a path of marks across his shoulder as he bites him, scraping teeth and soothing with tongue. “Fuck, Jackson. Come for me.”

He doesn’t have anything left, but he can’t resist his alpha. Can’t resist the fingernail that strokes along the bottom of his dick, or the way Derek is thrusting in tiny motions, barely moving because his knot is so thick. He comes with a force that makes his knees weak, and it is only Derek’s arm under his waist that keeps him from falling into the bed as he paints it with sticky fluid.

He feels Derek pulse inside of him as he howls again, filling him. When they finally fall to the side, Derek curls around him, one leg tossed over Jackson, holding him as they remain tied together. Jackson tries to capture his breath, floating. As he comes back to coherence, he can hear voices in the distance: Cora, Erica, Stiles… he relaxes as he catalogs them, knowing that everything will be fine outside this room.

“We’ve probably got at least a day here,” Derek murmurs. “Maybe not _right_ here,” he twitches his hips, “but close enough. Think you’ve got the stamina?”

“I think I can keep up with anything you want to dish out.” Jackson grins, bringing Derek’s hand to his lips, kissing his fingertips. “Whatever you want of me, it’s yours.”

“I just want you.” Derek’s voice is quiet. “You, me, our children. I want our family.”

“You’ve got that.” Jackson closes his eyes as he feels Derek’s fingers splay across his abdomen. He covers his hand with his own, tangling their fingers, knowing that soon enough there will be life quickening there again. “You’ve always got that, Derek.”

It was only supposed to be nine months, but it’s more than that. Maybe it’s always been more than that, because Jackson’s getting exactly what he wants: a lifetime with Derek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, that's it, we're done. That was something like 12 weeks and almost 53k words, which is a pretty respectable pace, I think. Especially for something that was supposed to be sweet and hot and short as a prompt response on tumblr. *grins*
> 
> I'm so sorry that this chapter was so late! But it's extra long, clocking in at around 9600 words and includes an epilogue, so I hope that makes up for the wait! I had a lot of fun with this story; I don't think I've written anything quite this long with quite this much porn included before. *grins* I hope you enjoyed the ride as well, and I hope you'll be back for future stories, whether you like rare pairs or more popular ones (I indulge in all of the above).
> 
> Anyway... thank you for reading, and for commenting, and for being here along the way. Take care, and don't forget to come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me at [tryslora on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


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